AUDREY 


BYMART  JOHNSTON 


Jitarp 


AUDREY.  With  Illustrations  in  color.  Crown 
8vo,  $1.50. 

PRISONERS  OF  HOPE.  With  Frontispiece. 
Crown  8vo,  #1.50. 

TO  HAVE  AND  TO  HOLD.  With  8  Illustra 
tions  by  HOWARD  PYLB,  E.  B.  THOMPSON, 
A.  W.  BSTTS,  and  EMLEN  McCoNNELL. 
Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


GAZED  WITH  WIDE-OPEN  EYES  AT  THE  INTRUDER  (page  106) 


AUDREY 


BY 


MARY  JOHNSTON 

AUTHOR  OF  •'  TO  HAVE  AND  TO  HOLD  "  AND 
"  PRISONERS  OF  HOPE  " 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
F.  C.  YOHN 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1902 


COPYRIGHT,    J90I,    1902,    3Y   MARY   JOHNSTON 

COPYRIGHT,    1902,   BY   HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   &  CO. 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  February,  IQ02 


To 

ELOISE,   ANNE,   AND  ELIZABETH 


913884 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.  THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY 1 

II.  THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       ....  16 

III.  DAKDEN'S  AUDREY 38 

IV.  THE  ROAD  TO  WILLIAMSBURGH  ....  52 
V.  THE  STOREKEEPER .63 

VI.  MASTER  AND  MAN 73 

VII.   THE  RETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON     .        .  92 

VIII.  UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE    ....  106 

IX    MACLEAN  TO  THE  RESCUE 117 

X.  HAWARD  AND  EVELYN 131 

XI.  AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN 145 

XII.   THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN       .        .        .  163 

XIII.  A  SABBATH  DAY'S  JOURNEY  .....  179 

XIV.  THE  BEND  IN  THE  ROAD      .        ...        .  194 
XV.   HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND 206 

XVI.  AUDREY  AND  EVELYN                   ,        .        .        .  222 

XVII.   WITHIN  THE  PLAYHOUSE          .....  237 

XVIII.  A  QUESTION  OF  COLORS 249 

XIX.  THE  GOVERNOR'S  BALL 262 

XX.   THE  UNINVITED  GUEST 273 

XXI.   AUDREY  AWAKES      .                287 

XXII.  BY  THE  RIVERSIDE 300 

XXIII.  A  DUEL .312 

XXIV.  AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER     ....  322 
XXV.  Two  WOMEN .337 

XXVI.  SANCTUARY . .  349 

XXVII.  THE  MISSION  OF  TRUELOVE 363 

XXVIII.   THE  PLAYER 375 

XXIX.   AMORVINCIT 391 

XXX.  THE  LAST  ACT                      402 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

GAZED  WITH  WIDE-OPEN  EYES  AT  THE  INTRUDER  (page  106) 

Frontispiece 

"HAD  YOU  LOVED  ME  —  I  HAD  BEEN  HAPPY"     ...  58 

AUDREY  LEFT  HER  WARNING  TO  BE  SPOKEN  BY  MACLEAN  206 

"I  DO  NOT  THINK  I  HAVE  THE  HONOR  OF  KNOWING"—  .  270 

HER  DARK  SYES  MADE  APPEAL 842 

"JEAN!  JEAN  HUGON!" 414 


AUDREY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY 

THE  valley  lay  like  a  ribbon  thrown  into  the  midst 
of  the  encompassing  hills.  The  grass  which  grew 
there  was  soft  and  fine  and  abundant ;  the  trees  which 
sprang  from  its  dark,  rich  mould  were  tall  and  great 
of  girth.  A  bright  stream  flashed  through  it,  and  the 
sunshine  fell  warm  upon  the  grass  and  changed  the 
tassels  of  the  maize  into  golden  plumes.  Above 
the  valley,  east  and  north  and  south,  rose  the  hills, 
clad  in  living  green,  mantled  with  the  purpling  grape, 
wreathed  morn  and  eve  with  trailing  mist.  To  the 
westward  were  the  mountains,  and  they  dwelt  apart  in 
a  blue  haze.  Only  in  the  morning,  if  the  mist  were 
not  there,  the  sunrise  struck  upon  their  long  summits, 
and  in  the  evening  they  stood  out,  high  and  black  and 
fearful,  against  the  splendid  sky.  The  child  who 
played  beside  the  cabin  door  often  watched  them  as 
the  valley  filled  with  shadows,  and  thought  of  them 
as  a  great  wall  between  her  and  some  land  of  the 
fairies  which  must  needs  lie  beyond  that  barrier,  be 
neath  the  splendor  and  the  evening  star.  The  Indians 
called  them  the  Endless  Mountains,  and  the  child 
never  doubted  that  they  ran  across  the  world  and 
touched  the  floor  of  heaven. 


2  AUDREY 

In  the  hands  of  the  woman  who  was  spinning  the 
thread  broke,  and  the  song  died  in  the  white  throat  of 
the  girl,  tfko  stood  >.n  the  doorway.  For  a  moment  the 
two  gazed  with  widening  eyes  into  the  green  Septem 
ber  world  without  the  cabin ;  then  the  woman  sprang 
to  her  feet,  tore  from  the  wall  a  horn,  and,  running  to 
the  door,  wound  it  lustily.  The  echoes  from  the  hills 
had  not  died  when  a  man  and  a  boy,  the  one  bearing 
a  musket,  the  other  an  axe,  burst  from  the  shadow  of 
the  forest,  and  at  a  run  crossed  the  greensward  and  the 
field  of  maize  between  them  and  the  women.  The 
child  let  fall  her  pine  cones  and  pebbles,  and  fled  to 
her  mother,  to  cling  to  her  skirts,  and  look  with  brown, 
frightened  eyes  for  the  wonder  that  should  follow  the 
winding  of  the  horn.  Only  twice  could  she  remember 
that  clear  summons  for  her  father :  once  when  it  was 
winter  and  snow  was  on  the  ground,  and  a  great  wolf, 
gaunt  and  bold,  had  fallen  upon  their  sheep ;  and 
once  when  a  drunken  trader  from  Germanna,  with  a 
Pamunkey  who  had  tasted  of  the  trader's  rum,  had 
not  waited  for  an  invitation  before  entering  the  cabin. 
It  was  not  winter  now,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  the 
red-faced  trader  or  of  the  dreadful,  capering  Indian. 
There  was  only  a  sound  in  the  air,  a  strange  noise 
coming  to  them  from  the  pass  between  the  hills  over 
which  rose  the  sun. 

The  man  with  the  musket  sent  his  voice  before 
him  as  he  approached  the  group  upon  the  door 
step  :  "  Alee,  woman  !  What 's  amiss  ?  I  see  naught 
wrong ! " 

His  wife  stepped  forward  to  meet  him.  "  There 's 
naught  to  see,  William.  It 's  to  hear.  There  was  a 
noise.  Molly  and  I  heard  it,  and  then  we  lost  it. 
There  it  is  again ! " 


THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY  3 

Fronting  the  cabin,  beyond  the  maize  field  and  the 
rich  green  grass  and  the  placid  stream,  rose  two  hills, 
steep  and  thickly  wooded,  and  between  them  ran  a 
narrow,  winding,  and  rocky  pass.  Down  this  gorge, 
to  the  listening  pioneer,  now  came  a  confused  and 
trampling  sound. 

"  It  is  iron  striking  against  the  rocks !  "  he  an 
nounced.  "  The  hoofs  of  horses  "  — 

"  Iron !  "  cried  his  wife.  "  The  horses  in  Virginia 
go  unshod!  And  what  should  a  troop  of  horse  do 
here,  beyond  the  frontier,  where  even  the  rangers 
never  come  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head,  a  frown  of  perplexity 
upon  his  bronzed  and  bearded  face.  "  It  is  the  sound 
of  the  hoofs  of  horses,"  he  said,  "  and  they  are  coming 
through  the  pass.  Hark  !  " 

A  trumpet  blew,  and  there  came  a  noise  of  laugh 
ter.  The  child  pressed  close  to  her  brother's  side. 
"  Oh,  Kobin,  maybe  't  is  the  fairies !  " 

Out  from  the  gloom  of  the  pass  into  the  sunshine  of 
the  valley,  splashing  through  the  stream,  trampling 
the  long  grass,  laughing,  and  calling  one  rider  to  the 
other,  burst  a  company  of  fifty  horsemen.  The  trum 
pet  blew  again,  and  the  entire  party,  drawing  rein, 
stared  at  the  unexpected  maize  field,  the  cabin,  and 
the  people  about  the  door. 

Between  the  intruders  and  the  lonely  folk,  whose 
nearest  neighbors  were  twenty  miles  away,  was  only  a 
strip  of  sunny  grass,  dotted  over  with  the  stumps  of 
trees  that  had  been  felled  lest  they  afford  cover  for 
attacking  savages.  A  man.  riding  at  the  head  of  the 
invading  party,  beckoned,  somewhat  imperiously,  to 
the  pioneer ;  and  the  latter,  still  with  his  musket  in 
the  hollow  of  his  arm,  strode  across  the  greensward, 


4  AUDREY 

and  finding  himself  in  the  midst,  not  of  rude  traders 
and  rangers,  but  of  easy,  smiling,  periwigged  gentle 
men,  handsomely  dressed  and  accoutred,  dropped  the 
butt  of  his  gun  upon  the  ground,  and  took  off  his 
squirrel-skin  cap. 

"  You  are  deep  in  the  wilderness,  good  fellow,"  said 
the  man  who  had  beckoned,  and  who  was  possessed  of 
a  stately  figure,  a  martial  countenance,  and  an  air  of 
great  authority.  "  How  far  is  it  to  the  mountains  ?  " 

The  pioneer  stared  at  the  long  blue  range,  cloudlike 
in  the  distance.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  I 
hunt  to  the  eastward.  Twenty  miles,  maybe.  You  're 
never  going  to  climb  them  ?  " 

"  We  are  come  out  expressly  to  do  so,"  answered 
the  other  heartily,  "  having  a  mind  to  drink  the  King's 
health  with  our  heads  in  the  clouds !  We  need  an 
other  axeman  to  clear  away  the  fallen  trees  and  break 
the  nets  of  grapevine.  Wilt  go  along  amongst  our 
rangers  yonder,  and  earn  a  pistole  and  undying 
fame?" 

The  woodsman  looked  from  the  knot  of  gentlemen 
to  the  troop  of  hardy  rangers,  who,  with  a  dozen  ebony 
servants  and  four  Meherrin  Indians,  made  up  the 
company.  Under  charge  of  the  slaves  were  a  number 
of  packhorses.  Thrown  across  one  was  a  noble  deer ; 
a  second  bore  a  brace  of  wild  turkeys  and  a  two-year- 
old  bear,  fa,t  and  tender ;  a  third  had  a  legion  of  pots 
and  pans  for  the  cooking  of  the  woodland  cheer ;  while 
the  burden  of  several  others  promised  heart's  content 
of  good  liquor.  From  the  entire  troop  breathed  a 
most  enticing  air  of  gay  daring  and  good-fellowship. 
The  gentlemen  were  young  and  of  cheerful  counte 
nances  ;  the  rangers  in  the  rear  sat  their  horses  and 
whistled  to  the  woodpeckers  in  the  sugar-trees ;  the 


THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY  5 

negroes  grinned  broadly ;  even  the  Indians  appeared 
a  shade  less  saturnine  than  usual.  The  golden  sun 
shine  poured  upon  them  all,  and  the  blue  mountains 
that  no  Englishman  had  ever  passed  seemed  for  the 
moment  as  soft  and  yielding  as  the  cloud  that  slept 
along  their  summits.  And  no  man  knew  what  might 
be  just  beyond  the  mountains  :  Frenchmen,  certainly, 
and  the  great  lakes  and  the  South  Sea ;  but,  besides 
these,  might  there  not  be  gold,  glittering  stones,  new 
birds  and  beasts  and  plants,  strange  secrets  of  the 
hills  ?  It  was  only  west  ward -ho  !  for  a  week  or  two, 
with  good  company  and  good  drink  — 

The  woodsman  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
but  his  wife,  who  had  now  crossed  the  grass  to  his 
side,  had  no  doubts. 

"  You  '11  not  go,  William ! "  she  cried.  "  Eemem- 
ber  the  smoke  that  you  saw  yesterday  from  the  hill 
top!  If  the  Northern  Indians  are  on  the  warpath 
against  the  Southern,  and  are  passing  between  us  and 
the  mountains,  there  may  be  straying  bands.  I  '11  not 
let  you  go ! " 

In  her  eagerness  she  clasped  his  arm  with  her 
hands.  She  was  a  comely,  buxom  dame,  and  the 
circle  on  horseback,  being  for  the  most  part  young 
and  gallant,  and  not  having  seen  a  woman  for  some 
days,  looked  kindly  upon  her. 

"  And  so  you  saw  a  smoke,  goodwife,  and  are  afraid 
of  roving  Indians?"  said  the  gentleman  who  had 
spoken  before.  "  That  being  the  case,  your  husband 
has  our  permission  to  stay  behind.  On  my  life,  't  is 
a  shame  to  ride  away  and  leave  you  in  danger  of  such 
marauders ! " 

"  Will  your  Excellency  permit  me  to  volunteer  for 
guard  duty  ?  "  demanded  a  young  man  who  had  pressed 


6  AUDREY 

his  horse  to  the  leader's  side.  "It's  odds,  though, 
that  when  you  return  this  way  you  '11  find  me  turned 
Papist.  I  '11  swear  your  Excellency  never  saw  in 
Flanders  carved  or  painted  saint  so  worthy  of  your 
prayers  as  yonder  breathing  one !  " 

The  girl  Molly  had  followed  her  parents,  and  now 
stood  upon  a  little  grassy  knoll,  surveying  with  wide 
brown  eyes  the  gay  troop  before  her.  A  light  wind 
was  blowing,  and  it  wrapped  her  dress  of  tender, 
faded  blue  around  her  young  limbs,  and  lifted  her 
loosened  hair,  gilded  by  the  sunshine  into  the  likeness 
of  an  aureole.  Her  face  was  serious  and  wondering, 
but  fair  as  a  woodland  flower.  She  had  placed  her 
hand  upon  the  head  of  the  child  who  was  with  her, 
clinging  to  her  dress.  The  green  knoll  formed  a 
pedestal ;  behind  was  the  sky,  as  blue  as  that  of  Italy  ; 
the  two  figures  might  have  been  some  painted  altar 
piece. 

The  sprightly  company,  which  had  taken  for  its 
motto  "  Sic  juvat  transcendere  inontes,"  looked  and 
worshiped.  There  was  a  moment  of  silent  devotion, 
broken  by  one  of  the  gentlemen  demanding  if  't  were 
not  time  for  dinner;  another  remarked  that  they 
might  go  much  farther  and  fare  much  worse,  in  re 
spect  of  a  cool,  sweet  spot  in  which  to  rest  during  the 
heat  of  the  afternoon  ;  and  a  third  boldly  proposed 
that  they  go  no  farther  at  all  that  day.  Their  leader 
settled  the  question  by  announcing  that,  Mr.  Mason's 
suggestion  finding  favor  in  his  sight,  they  would  forth 
with  dismount,  dine,  drink  red  wine  and  white,  and 
wear  out  the  heat  of  the  day  in  this  sylvan  paradise 
until  four  of  the  clock,  when  the  trumpet  should  sound 
for  the  mount;  also,  that  if  the  goodwife  and  her 
daughter  would  do  them  the  honor  to  partake  of  their 


THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY  7 

rustic  fare,  their  healths  should  be  drunk  in  nothing 
less  than  Burgundy. 

As  he  spoke  he  swung  himself  from  the  saddle, 
pulled  out  his  ruffles,  and  raised  his  hat.  "  Ladies, 
permit  me,"  —  a  wave  of  his  hand  toward  his  escort, 
who  were  now  also  on  foot.  "  Colonel  Robertson, 
Captain  Clonder,  Captain  Brooke,  Mr.  Haward,  Mr. 
Beverley,  Dr.  Robinson,  Mr.  Fontaine,  Mr.  Todd, 
Mr.  Mason,  —  all  of  the  Tramontane  Order.  For 
myself,  I  am  Alexander  Spotswood,  at  your  service." 

The  pioneer,  standing  behind  his  wife,  plucked  her 
by  the  sleeve.  "  Ecod,  Alee,  't  is  the  Governor  him 
self  !  Mind  your  manners !  " 

Alee,  who  had  been  a  red-cheeked  dairymaid  in  a 
great  house  in  England,  needed  no  admonition.  Her 
curtsy  was  profound*;  and  when  the  Governor  took 
her  by  the  hand  and  kissed  her  still  blooming  cheek, 
she  curtsied  again.  Molly,  who  had  no  memories  of 
fine  gentlemen  and  the  complaisance  which  was  their 
due,  blushed  fire-red  at  the  touch  of  his  Excellency's 
lips,  forgot  to  curtsy,  and  knew  not  where  to  look. 
When,  in  her  confusion,  she  turned  her  head  aside, 
her  eyes  met  those  of  the  young  man  who  had  threat- 
3ned  to  turn  Papist.  He  bowed,  with  his  hand  upon 
his  heart,  and  she  blushed  more  deeply  than  before. 

By  now  every  man  had  dismounted,  and  the  valley 
was  ringing  with  the  merriment  of  the  jovial  crew. 
The  negroes  led  the  horses  down  the  stream,  lightened 
them  of  saddle  and  bridle,  and  left  them  tethered  to 
saplings  beneath  which  the  grass  grew  long  and  green. 
The  rangers  gathered  fallen  wood,  and  kindled  two 
mighty  fires,  while  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  threw 
themselves  down  beside  the  stream,  upon  a  little  grassy 
rise  shadowed  by  a  huge  sugar-tree.  A  mound  of 


8  AUDREY 

turf,  flanked  by  two  spreading  roots,  was  the  Gov 
ernor's  chair  of  state,  and  Alee  and  Molly  he  must 
needs  seat  beside  him.  Not  one  of  his  gay  company 
but  seemed  an  adept  in  the  high-flown  compliment  of 
the  age ;  out  of  very  idleness  and  the  mirth  born  of 
that  summer  hour  they  followed  his  Excellency's  lead, 
and  plied  the  two  simple  women  with  all  the  wordy 
ammunition  that  a  tolerable  acquaintance  with  the 
mythology  of  the  ancients  and  the  polite  literature  of 
the  present  could  furnish.  The  mother  and  daughter 
did  not  understand  the  fine  speeches,  but  liked  them 
passing  well.  In  their  lonely  lives,  a  little  thing  made 
conversation  for  many  and  many  a  day.  As  for  these 
golden  hours,  —  the  jingle  and  clank  and  mellow 
laughter,  the  ruffles  and  gold  buttons  and  fine  cloth, 
these  gentlemen,  young  and  handsome,  friendly-eyed, 
silver-tongued,  the  taste  of  wine,  the  taste  of  flattery, 
the  sunshine  that  surely  was  never  yet  so  bright,  — 
ten  years  from  now  they  would  still  be  talking  of  these 
things,  still  wishing  that  such  a  day  could  come  again. 
The  negroes  were  now  busy  around  the  fires,  and 
soon  the  cheerful  odor  of  broiling  meat  rose  and 
blended  with  the  fragrance  of  the  forest.  The  pio 
neer,  hospitably  minded,  beckoned  to  the  four  Meher- 
rins,  and  hastening  with  them  to  the  patch  of  waving 
corn,  returned  with  a  goodly  lading  of  plump,  green 
ears.  A  second  foraging  party,  under  guidance  of 
the  boy,  brought  into  the  larder  of  the  gentry  half  a 
dozen  noble  melons,  golden  within  and  without.  The 
woman  whispered  to  the  child,  and  the  latter  ran  to 
the  cabin,  filled  her  upgathered  skirts  with  the  loaves 
of  her  mother's  baking,  and  came  back  to  the  group 
upon  the  knoll  beneath  the  sugar-tree.  The  Governor 
himself  took  the  bread  from  the  little  maid,  then  drew 
her  toward  him. 


THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY  9 

"  Thanks,  my  pretty  one,"  he  said,  with  a  smile 
that  for  the  .moment  quite  dispelled  the  expression  of 
haughtiness  which  marred  an  otherwise  comely  coun 
tenance.  "  Come,  give  me  a  kiss,  sweeting,  and  tell 
me  thy  name." 

The  child  looked  at  him  gravely.  "My  name  is 
Audrey,"  she  answered,  "  and  if  you  eat  all  of  our 
bread  we  '11  have  none  for  supper." 

The  Governor  laughed,  and  kissed  the  small  dark 
face.  "  I  '11  give  thee  a  gold  moidore,  instead,  my 
maid.  Odso !  thou  'rt  as  dark  and  wild,  almost,  as 
was  my  little  Queen  of  the  Saponies  that  died  last 
year.  Hast  never  been  away  from  the  mountains, 
child?" 

Audrey  shook  her  head,  and  thought  the  question 
but  a  foolish  one.  The  mountains  were  everywhere. 
Had  she  not  been  to  the  top  of  the  hills,  and  seen  for 
herself  that  they  went  from  one  edge  of  the  world  to 
the  other  ?  She  was  glad  to  slip  from  the  Governor's 
encircling  arm,  and  from  the  gay  ring  beneath  the 
sugar-tree ;  to  take  refuge  with  herself  down  by  the 
water  side,  and  watch  the  fairy  tale  from  afar  off. 

The  rangers,  with  the  pioneer  and  his  son  for  their 
guests,  dined  beside  the  kitchen  fire,  which  they  had 
kindled  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  group  upon 
the  knoll.  Active,  bronzed  and  daring  men,  wild 
riders,  bold  fighters,  lovers  of  the  freedom  of  the 
woods,  they  sprawled  upon  the  dark  earth  beneath 
the  walnut-trees,  laughed  and  joked,  and  told  old 
tales  of  hunting  or  of  Indian  warfare.  The  four 
Meherrins  ate  apart  and  in  stately  silence,  but  the 
grinning  negroes  must  needs  endure  their  hunger  until 
their  masters  should  be  served.  One  black  detach 
ment  spread  before  the  gentlemen  of  the  expedition  a 


10  AUDREY 

damask  cloth ;  another  placed  upon  the  snowy  field 
platters  of  smoking  venison  and  turkey,  flanked  by 
rockahominy  and  sea-biscuit,  corn  roasted  Indian  fash 
ion,  golden  melons,  and  a  quantity  of  wild  grapes  gath 
ered  from  the  vines  that  rioted  over  the  hillside  ;  while  a 
third  set  down,  with  due  solemnity,  a  formidable  array 
of  bottles.  There  being  no  chaplain  in  the  party,  the 
grace  was  short.  The  two  captains  carved,  but  every 
man  was  his  own  Ganymede.  The  wines  were  good 
and  abundant :  there  was  champagne  for  the  King's 
health ;  claret  in  which  to  pledge  themselves,  gay 
stormers  of  the  mountains ;  Burgundy  for  the  oreads 
who  were  so  gracious  as  to  sit  beside  them,  smile  upon 
them,  taste  of  their  mortal  fare. 

Sooth  to  say,  the  oreads  were  somewhat  dazed  by 
the  company  they  were  keeping,  and  found  the  wine 
a  more  potent  brew  than  the  liquid  crystal  of  their 
mountain  streams.  Red  roses  bloomed  in  Molly's 
cheeks  ;  her  eyes  grew  starry,  and  no  longer  sought  the 
ground ;  when  one  of  the  gentlemen  wove  a  chaplet 
of  oak  leaves,  and  with  it  crowned  her  loosened  hair, 
she  laughed,  and  the  sound  was  so  silvery  and  delight 
ful  that  the  company  laughed  with  her.  When  the 
viands  were  gone,  the  negroes  drew  the  cloth,  but  left 
the  wine.  When  the  wine  was  well-nigh  spent,  they 
brought  to  their  masters  long  pipes  and  japanned 
boxes  filled  with  sweet-scented.  The  fragrant  smoke, 
arising,  wrapped  the  knoll  in  a  bluish  haze.  A.  wind 
had  arisen,  tempering  the  blazing  sunshine,  and  mak 
ing  low  music  up  and  down  the  hillsides.  The  ma 
ples  blossomed  into  silver,  the  restless  poplar  leaves 
danced  more  and  more  madly,  the  hemlocks  and  great 
white  pines  waved  their  broad,  dark  banners.  Above 
the  hilltops  the  sky  was  very  blue,  and  the  distant 


THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY  11 

heights  seemed  dream  mountains  and  easy  of  climbing. 
A  soft  and  pleasing  indolence,  born  of  the  afternoon, 
the  sunlight,  and  the  red  wine,  came  to  dwell  in  the 
valley.  One  of  the  company  beneath  the  spreading 
sugar-tree  laid  his  pipe  upon  the  grass,  clasped  his 
hands  behind  his  head,  and,  with  his  eyes  on  the  azure 
heaven  showing  between  branch  and  leaf,  sang  the 
song  of  Amiens  of  such  another  tree  in  such  another 
forest.  The  voice  was  manly,  strong,  and  sweet ;  the 
rangers  quit  their  talk  of  war  and  hunting  to  listen, 
and  the  negroes,  down  by  the  fire  which  they  had  built 
for  themselves,  laughed  for  very  pleasure. 

When  the  wine  was  all  drunken  and  the  smoke  of 
the  tobacco  quite  blown  away,  a  gentleman  who  seemed 
of  a  somewhat  saturnine  disposition,  and  less  suscep 
tible  than  his  brother  adventurers  to  the  charms  of 
the  wood  nymphs,  rose,  and  declared  that  he  would 
go  a-fishing  in  the  dark  crystal  of  the  stream  below. 
His  servant  brought  him  hook  and  line,  while  the 
grasshoppers  in  the  tall  grass  served  for  bait.  A  rock 
jutting  over  the  flood  formed  a  convenient  seat,  and 
a  tulip-tree  lent  a  grateful  shade.  The  fish  were 
abundant  and  obliging ;  the  fisherman  was  happy. 
Three  shining  trophies  had  been  landed,  and  he  was 
in  the  act  of  baiting  the  hook  that  should  capture  the 
fourth,  when  his  eyes  chanced  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the 
child  Audrey,  who  had  left  her  covert  of  purple-ber 
ried  alder,  and  now  stood  beside  him.  Tithonus,  green 
and  hale,  skipped  from  between  his  fingers,  and  he  let 
fall  his  line  to  put  out  a  good-natured  hand  and  draw 
the  child  down  to  a  seat  upon  the  rock.  "  Wouldst 
like  to  try  thy  skill,  moppet  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  child  shook  her  head.  "  Are  you  a  prince  ?  " 
she  asked,  "  and  is  the  grand  gentleman  with  the  long 
hair  and  the  purple  coat  the  King  ?  " 


12  AUDREY 

The  fisherman  laughed.  "  No,  little  one,  I  'm  only 
a  poor  ensign.  The  gentleman  yonder,  being  the  re 
presentative  in  Virginia  of  my  Lord  of  Orkney  and 
his  Majesty  King  George  the  First,  may  somewhat 
smack  of  royalty.  Indeed,  there  are  good  Virginians 
who  think  that  were  the  King  himself  amongst  us  he 
could  not  more  thoroughly  play  my  Lord  Absolute. 
But  he  's  only  the  Governor  of  Virginia,  after  all, 
bright  eyes." 

"  Does  he  live  in  a  palace,  like  the  King  ?  My 
father  once  saw  the  King's  house  in  a  place  they  call 
London." 

The  gentleman  laughed  again.  "  Ay,  he  lives  in  a 
palace,  a  red  brick  palace,  sixty  feet  long  and  forty 
feet  deep,  with  a  bauble  on  top  that 's  all  afire  on 
birth-nights.  There  are  green  gardens,  too,  with  wind 
ing  paths,  and  sometimes  pretty  ladies  walk  in  them. 
Wouldst  like  to  see  all  these  fine  things  ?  " 

The  child  nodded.  "  Ay,  that  I  would  !  Who  is 
the  gentleman  that  sang,  and  that  now  sits  by  Molly  ? 
See  !  with  his  hand  touching  her  hair.  Is  he  a  Gov 
ernor,  too  ?  " 

The  other  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  sugar-tree, 
raised  his  eyebrows,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  re 
turned  to  his  fishing.  "  That  is  Mr.  Marmaduke 
Haward,"  he  said,  "  who,  having  just  come  into  a  great 
estate,  goes  abroad  next  month  to  be  taught  the  new 
est,  most  genteel  mode  of  squandering  it.  Dost  not 
like  his  looks,  child  ?  Half  the  ladies  of  Williams- 
burgh  are  enamored  of  his  beaux  yeux." 

Audrey  made  no  answer,  for  just  then  the  trumpet 
blew  for  the  mount,  and  the  fisherman  must  needs 
draw  in  and  pocket  his  hook  and  line.  Clear,  high, 
and  sweet,  the  triumphant  notes  pierced  the  air,  and 


THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY  13 

were  answered  from  the  hills  by  a  thousand  fairy 
horns.  The  martial-minded  Governor  would  play 
the  soldier  in  the  wilderness ;  his  little  troop  of  gen 
tlemen  and  rangers  and  ebony  servants  had  come  out 
well  drilled  for  their  tilt  against  the  mountains.  The 
echoes  were  still  ringing,  when,  with  laughter,  some 
expenditure  of  wit,  and  much  cheerful  swearing,  the 
camp  was  struck.  The  packhorses  were  again  laden, 
the  rangers  swung  themselves  into  their  saddles,  and 
the  gentlemen  beneath  the  sugar-tree  rose  from  the 
grass,  and  tendered  their  farewells  to  the  oreads. 

Alee  roundly  hoped  that  their  Honors  would  pass 
that  way  again  upon  their  return  from  the  high  moun 
tains,  and  the  deepening  rose  of  Molly's  cheeks  and 
her  wistful  eyes  added  weight  to  her  mother's  importu 
nity.  The  Governor  swore  that  in  no  great  time  they 
would  dine  again  in  the  valley,  and  his  companions 
confirmed  the  oath.  His  Excellency,  turning  to  mount 
his  horse,  found  the  pioneer  at  the  animal's  head. 

"  So,  honest  fellow,"  he  exclaimed  good-naturedly, 
"  you  will  not  with  us  to  grave  your  name  upon  the 
mountain  tops  ?  Let  me  tell  you  that  you  are  giving 
Fame  the  go-by.  To  march  against  the  mountains 
and  overcome  them  as  though  they  were  so  many 
Frenchmen,  and  then  to  gaze  into  the  promised  land 
beyond  —  Odso,  man,  we  are  as  great  as  were  Cortez 
and  Pizarro  and  their  crew !  We  are  heroes  and  pala 
dins  !  We  are  the  Knights  of  "  — 

His  horse,  impatient  to  be  gone,  struck  with  a  ring 
ing  sound  an  iron-shod  hoof  against  a  bit  of  rock. 
"  The  Knights  of  the  Horseshoe,"  said  the  gentleman 
nearest  the  Governor. 

Spotswood  uttered  a  delighted  exclamation  :  "  'Gad, 
Mr.  Ha  ward,  you  've  hit  it !  Well-nigh  the  first  horse- 


14  AUDREY 

shoes  used  in  Virginia  —  the  number  we  were  forced  to 
bring  along  —  the  sound  of  the  iron  against  the  rocks 
—  the  Knights  of  the  Horseshoe !  'Gad,  I  '11  send  to 
London  and  have  little  horseshoes  —  little  gold  horse 
shoes  —  made,  and  every  man  of  us  shall  wear  one. 
The  Knights  of  the  Golden  Horseshoe !  It  hath  an 
odd,  charming  sound,  eh,  gentlemen  ?  " 

None  of  the  gentlemen  were  prepared  to  deny  that 
it  was  a  quaint  and  pleasing  title.  Instead,  out  of 
very  lightness  of  heart  and  fantastic  humor,  they  must 
needs  have  the  Burgundy  again  unpacked,  that  they 
might  pledge  at  once  all  valorous  discoverers,  his  Ex 
cellency  the  Governor  of  Virginia,  and  their  new- 
named  order.  And  when  the  wine  was  drunk,  the 
rangers  were  drawn  up,  the  muskets  were  loaded,  and 
a  volley  was  fired  that  brought  the  echoes  crashing 
about  their  heads.  The  Governor  mounted,  the  trum 
pet  sounded  once  more,  and  the  joyous  company  swept 
down  the  narrow  valley  toward  the  long,  blue,  distant 
ranges. 

The  pioneer,  his  wife  and  children,  watched  them  go. 
One  of  the  gentlemen  turned  in  his  saddle  and  waved 
his  hand.  Alee  curtsied,  but  Molly,  at  whom  he  had 
looked,  saw  him  not,  because  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  The  company  reached  and  entered  a  cleft  be 
tween  the  hills ;  a  moment,  and  men  and  horses  were 
lost  to  sight;  a  little  longer,  and  not  even  a  sound 
could  be  heard. 

It  was  as  though  they  had  taken  the  sunshine  with 
them ;  for  a  cloud  had  come  up  from  the  west,  and  the 
sun  was  hidden.  All  at  once  the  valley  seemed  a  som 
bre  and  lonely  place,  and  the  hills  with  their  whisper 
ing  trees  looked  menacingly  down  upon  the  clearing, 
the  cabin,  and  the  five  simple  English  folk.  The 


THE  CABIN  IN  THE  VALLEY  15 

glory  of  the  day  was  gone.  After  a  little  more  of 
idle  staring,  the  frontiersman  and  his  son  returned  to 
their  work  in  the  forest,  while  Alee  and  Molly  went 
indoors  to  their  spinning,  and  Audrey  sat  down  upon 
the  doorstep  to  listen  to  the  hurry  of  voices  in  the 
trees,  and  to  watch  the  ever-deepening  shadow  of  the 
cloud  above  the  valley. 


CHAPTER  H 

THE  COURT  OF  THE   ORPHAN 

AN  hour  before  dusk  found  the  company  that  had 
dined  in  the  valley  making  their  way  up  the  dry  bed 
of  a  stream,  through  a  gorge  which  cleft  a  line  of  pre 
cipitous  hills.  On  either  hand  the  bank  rose  steeply, 
giving  no  footing  for  man  or  beast.  The  road  was  a 
difficult  one ;  for  here  a  tall,  fern-crowned  rock  left 
but  a  narrow  passage  between  itself  and  the  shaggy 
hillside,  and  there  smooth  and  slippery  ledges,  mount 
ing  one  above  the  other,  spanned  the  way.  In  places, 
too,  the  drought  had  left  pools  of  dark,  still  water, 
difficult  to  avoid,  and  not  infrequently  the  entire  party 
must  come  to  a  halt  while  the  axemen  cleared  from 
the  path  a  fallen  birch  or  hemlock.  Every  man  was 
afoot,  none  caring  to  risk  a  fall  upon  the  rocks  or  into 
the  black,  cold  water  of  the  pools.  The  hoofs  of  the 
horses  and  the  spurs  of  the  men  clanked  against  the 
stones  ;  now  and  then  one  of  the  heavily  laden  pack- 
horses  stumbled  and  was  sworn  at,  and  once  a  warn 
ing  rattle,  issuing  from  a  rank  growth  of  fern  on  the 
hillside,  caused  a  momentary  commotion.  There  was 
no  more  laughter,  or  whistling,  or  calling  from  the  van 
to  the  rear  guard.  The  way  was  arduous,  and  every 
man  must  watch  his  footsteps ;  moreover,  the  last  rays 
of  the  sun  were  gilding  the  hilltops  above  them,  and 
the  level  that  should  form  their  camping-place  must 
be  reached  before  the  falling  of  the  night. 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       17 

The  sunlight  had  all  but  faded  from  the  heights, 
when  one  of  the  company,  stumbling  over  a  round  and 
mossy  rock,  measured  his  length  upon  the  ground, 
amid  his  own  oaths  at  his  mishap,  and  the  excla 
mations  of  the  man  immediately  in  his  rear,  whose 
progress  he  had  thus  unceremoniously  blocked.  The 
horse  of  the  fallen  man,  startled  by  the  dragging  at 
the  reins,  reared  and  plunged,  and  in  a  moment  the 
entire  column  was  in  disorder.  When  the  frightened 
animals  were  at  last  quieted,  and  the  line  re-formed, 
the  Governor  called  out  to  know  who  it  was  that  had 
fallen,  and  whether  any  damage  had  been  suffered. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Haward,  sir !  "  cried  two  or  three ;  and 
presently  the  injured  gentleman  himself,  limping  pain 
fully,  and  with  one  side  of  his  fine  green  coat  all  stained 
by  reason  of  contact  with  a  bit  of  muddy  ground,  ap 
peared  before  his  Excellency. 

"  I  have  had  a  cursed  mishap,  —  saving  your  pre 
sence,  sir,"  he  explained.  "  The  right  ankle  is,  I  fear, 
badly  sprained.  The  pain  is  exquisite,  and  I  know 
not  how  I  am  to  climb  mountains." 

The  Governor  uttered  an  exclamation  of  concern : 
"  Unfortunate  !  Dr.  Robinson  must  look  to  the  hurt 
at  once." 

"  Your  Excellency  forgets  my  dispute  with  Dr.  Rob 
inson  as  to  the  dose  of  Jesuit  bark  for  my  servant," 
said  the  sufferer  blandly.  "Were  I  in  extremis  I 
should  not  apply  to  him  for  relief." 

"  I  '11  lay  my  life  that  you  are  not  in  extremis  now," 
retorted  the  doctor.  "  If  ever  I  saw  a  man  with  a 
sprained  ankle  keep  his  color  so  marvelously,  or  heard 
him  speak  in  so  composed  a  tone !  The  pain  must  be 
of  a  very  unusual  degree  indeed !  " 

"  It  is,"  answered  Mr.  Haward  calmly.     "  I  cannot 


18  AUDREY 

possibly  go  on  in  this  condition,  your  Excellency,  nor 
can  I  dream  of  allowing  my  unlucky  accident  to  delay 
this  worshipful  company  in  their  ascent  of  the  moun 
tains.  I  will  therefore  take  my  servant  and  ride  slowly 
back  to  the  cabin  which  we  left  this  afternoon.  Doubt 
less  the  worthy  pioneer  will  give  me  shelter  until  my 
foot  is  healed,  and  I  will  rejoin  your  Excellency  upon 
your  return  through  the  valley." 

As  he  spoke,  for  the  greater  ease  of  the  injured 
member,  he  leaned  against  a  towering  rock.  He  was 
a  handsome  youth,  with  a  trick  of  keeping  an  unmoved 
countenance  under  even  such  a  fire  of  laughter  and 
exclamation  as  greeted  his  announcement. 

"  And  for  this  you  would  lose  the  passing  of  the 
Appalachian  Mountains !  "  cried  Spotswood.  "  Why, 
man !  from  those  heights  we  may  almost  see  Lake 
Erie ;  may  find  out  how  near  we  are  to  the  French, 
how  easily  the  mountains  may  be  traversed,  what  pro 
mise  of  success  should  his  Majesty  determine  to  plant 
settlements  beyond  them  or  to  hold  the  mountain 
passes !  There  is  service  to  be  done  and  honor  to  be 
gained,  and  you  would  lag  behind  because  of  a  wrenched 
ankle !  Zoons,  sir !  at  Blenheim  I  charged  a  whole 
regiment  of  Frenchmen,  with  a,  wound  in  my  breast 
into  which  you  might  have  thrust  your  hand  !  " 

The  younger  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Beg 
gars  may  not  be  choosers,"  he  said  coolly.  "The 
sunlight  is  fast  fading,  and  if  we  would  be  out  of 
this  gorge  before  nightfall  we  must  make  no  further 
tarrying.  I  have  your  Excellency's  permission  to 
depart?" 

One  of  the  gentlemen  made  a  low-voiced  but  audi 
ble  remark  to  his  neighbor,  and  another  hummed  a 
line  from  a  love  song.  The  horses  moved  impatiently 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       19 

amongst  the  loose  stones,  and  the  rangers  began  to  mut 
ter  that  night  would  be  upon  them  before  they  reached 
a  safer  footing. 

"  Mr.  Haward  !  Mr.  Haward !  "  said  the  Governor 
sternly.  "  It  is  in  my  mind  that  you  meditate  inflict 
ing  a  greater  harm  than  you  have  received.  Let  me 
tell  you,  sir,  if  you  think  to  so  repay  a  simple-minded 
hospitality  "  — 

Mr.  Haward's  eyes  narrowed.  "I  own  Colonel 
Spotswood  for  Governor  of  Virginia,"  he  said,  speak 
ing  slowly,  as  was  his  wont  when  he  was  angry.  "  His 
office  does  not,  I  think,  extend  farther  than  that.  As 
for  these  pleasant-minded  gentlemen  who  are  not  pro 
tected  by  their  rank  I  beg  to  inform  them  that  in  my 
fall  my  sword  arm  suffered  no  whit." 

Turning,  he  beckoned  to  a  negro  who  had  worked 
his  way  from  the  servants  in  the  rear,  along  the  line 
of  rangers,  to  the  outskirts  of  the  group  of  gentlemen 
gathered  around  the  Governor  and  the  injured  man. 
"Juba,"  he  ordered,  "draw  your  horse  and  mine  to 
one  side.  Your  Excellency,  may  I  again  remind  you 
that  it  draws  toward  nightfall,  and  that  this  road  will 
be  no  pleasant  one  to  travel  in  the  dark?" 

What  he  said  was  true ;  moreover,  upon  the  setting 
out  of  the  expedition  it  had  been  laughingly  agreed 
that  any  gentleman  who  might  find  his  spirits  dashed 
by  the  dangers  and  difficulties  of  the  way  should  be  at 
liberty  at  any  time  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  moun 
tains,  and  his  face  toward  safety  and  the  settlements. 
The  Governor  frowned,  bit,  his  lips,  but  finally  burst 
into  unwilling  laughter. 

"  You  are  a  very  young  gentleman,  Mr.  Marmaduke 
Haward !  "  he  cried.  "  Were  you  a  little  younger,  I 
know  what  ointment  I  should  prescribe  for  your  hurt. 


20  AUDREY 

Go  your  ways  with  your  broken  ankle ;  but  if,  when  I 
come  again  to  the  cabin  in  the  valley,  I  find  that  your 
own  injury  has  not  contented  you,  look  to  it  that  I  do 
not  make  you  build  a  bridge  across  the  bay  itself! 
Gentlemen,  Mr.  Haward  is  bent  upon  intrusting  his 
cure  to  other  and  softer  hands  than  Dr.  Robinson's, 
and  the  expedition  must  go  forward  without  him. 
We  sorrow  to  lose  him  from  our  number,  but  we 
know  better  than  to  reason  with  —  ahem  !  —  a  twisted 
ankle.  En  avant,  gentlemen !  Mr.  Haward,  pray 
have  a  care  of  yourself.  I  would  advise  that  the  ankle 
be  well  bandaged,  and  that  you  stir  not  from  the  chim 
ney  corner  "  — 

"  I  thank  your  Excellency  for  your  advice,"  said  Mr, 
Haward  imperturbably,  "  and  will  consider  of  taking 
it.  I  wish  your  Excellency  and  these  merry  gentlemen 
a  most  complete  victory  over  the  mountains,  from 
which  conquest  I  will  no  longer  detain  you." 

He  bowed  as  he  spoke,  and  began  to  move,  slowly 
and  haltingly,  across  the  width  of  the  rocky  way  to 
where  his  negro  stood  with  the  two  horses. 

"  Mr.  Haward  !  "  called  the  Governor. 

The  recreant  turned  his  head.  "  Your  Excel 
lency?" 

"  It  was  the  right  foot,  was  it  not  ?  "  queried  his 
sometime  leader.  "  Ah,  I  thought  so !  Then  it  were 
best  not  to  limp  with  the  left." 

Homeric  laughter  shook  the  air;  but  while  Mr. 
Haward  laughed  not,  neither  did  he  frown  or  blush. 
"  I  will  remember,  sir,"  he  said  simply,  and  at  once 
began  to  limp  with  the  proper  foot.  When  he  reached 
the  bank  he  turned,  and,  standing  with  his  arm  around 
his  horse's  neck,  watched  the  company  which  he  had 
so  summarily  deserted,  as  it  put  itself  into  motion  and 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       21 

went  slowly  past  him  up  its  dusky  road.  The  laughter 
and  bantering  farewells  moved  him  not ;  he  could  at 
will  draw  a  line  around  himself  across  which  few 
things  could  step.  Not  far  away  the  bed  of  the  stream 
turned,  and  a  hillside,  dark  with  hemlock,  closed  the 
view.  He  watched  the  train  pass  him,  reach  this 
bend,  and  disappear.  The  axemen  and  the  four  Me- 
herrins,  the  Governor  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  Horse 
shoe,  the  rangers,  the  negroes,  —  all  were  gone  at  last. 
With  that  passing,  and  with  the  ceasing  of  the  laughter 
and  the  trampling,  came  the  twilight.  A  whippoor- 
will  began  to  call,  and  the  wind  sighed  in  the  trees. 
Juba,  the  negro,  moved  closer  to  his  master;  then 
upon  an  impulse  stooped,  and  lifting  above  his  head  a 
great  rock,  threw  it  with  might  into  one  of  the  shallow 
pools.  The  crashing  sound  broke  the  spell  of  the 
loneliness  and  quiet  that  had  fallen  upon  the  place. 
The  white  man  drew  his  breath,  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  and  turned  his  horse's  head  down  the  way  up 
which  he  had  so  lately  come. 

The  cabin  in  the  valley  was  not  three  miles  away. 
Down  this  ravine  to  a  level  place  of  pines,  through  the 
pines  to  a  strip  of  sassafras  and  a  poisoned  field,  past 
these  into  a  dark,  rich  wood  of  mighty  trees  linked  to 
gether  with  the  ripening  grape,  then  three  low  hills, 
then  the  valley  and  the  cabin  and  a  pair  of  starry  eyes. 
It  was  full  moon.  Once  out  from  under  the  stifling 
walls  of  the  ravine,  and  the  silver  would  tremble 
through  the  leaves,  and  show  the  path  beneath.  The 
trees,  too,  that  they  had  blazed,  —  with  white  wood 
pointing  to  white  wood,  the  backward  way  should  be 
easy. 

The  earth,  rising  sheer  in  darkness  on  either  hand, 
shut  in  the  bed  of  the  stream.  In  the  warm,  scented 


22  AUDREY 

dusk  the  locusts  shrilled  in  the  trees,  and  far  up  the 
gorge  the  whippoorwill  called  and  called.  The  air  was 
filled  with  the  gold  of  fireflies,  a  maze  of  spangles,  now 
darkening,  now  brightening,  restless  and  bewildering. 
The  small,  round  pools  caught  the  light  from  the  yet 
faintly  colored  sky,  and  gleamed  among  the  rocks ; 
a  star  shone  out,  and  a  hot  wind,  heavy  with  the  smell 
of  the  forest,  moved  the  hemlock  boughs  and  rustled 
in  the  laurels. 

The  white  man  and  the  negro,  each  leading  his 
horse,  picked  their  way  with  caution  among  the  pit 
falls  of  the  rocky  and  uneven  road.  With  the  passing 
of  the  Governor  and  his  train  a  sudden  cure  had  been 
wrought,  for  now  Haward's  step  was  as  firm  and 
light  as  it  had  been  before  his  fall.  The  negro  looked 
at  him  once  or  twice  with  a  puzzled  face,  but  made  no 
comment  and  received  no  enlightenment.  Indeed,  so 
difficult  was  their  way  that  they  were  left  but  scant 
leisure  for  speech.  Moment  by  moment  the  darkness 
deepened,  and  once  Haward's  horse  came  to  its  knees, 
crashing  down  among  the  rocks  and  awakening  every 
echo. 

The  way,  if  hard,  was  short.  The  hills  fell  farther 
apart,  the  banks  became  low  and  broad,  and  fair  in 
front,  between  two  slender  pines,  shone  out  the  great 
round  moon.  Leaving  the  bed  of  the  stream,  the  two 
men  entered  a  pine  wood,  dim  and  fragrant  and  easy 
to  thread.  The  moon  rose  higher,  and  the  light  fell 
in  wide  shafts  between  trees  that  stood  well  apart, 
with  no  vines  to  grapple  one  to  another  or  under 
growth  to  press  about  their  knees. 

There  needed  no  watchfulness:  the  ground  was 
smooth',  the  light  was  fair;  no  motion  save  the  pale 
flicker  of  the  fireflies,  no  sound  save  the  sigh  of  the 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       23 

night  wind  in  the  boughs  that  were  so  high  overhead. 
Master  and  man,  riding  slowly  and  steadily  onward 
through  a  wood  that  seemed  interminably  the  same, 
came  at  last  to  think  of  other  things  than  the  road 
which  they  were  traveling.  Their  hands  lost  grasp 
upon  the  reins,  and  their  eyes,  ceasing  to  glance  now 
here,  now  there,  gazed  steadfastly  down  the  gray  and 
dreamlike  vista  before  them,  and  saw  no  longer  bole 
and  branch,  moonlight  and  the  white  scars  that  the 
axe  had  made  for  guidance.  The  vision  of  the  slave 
was  of  supper  at  the  quarters,  of  the  scraping  of  the 
fiddle  in  the  red  firelight,  of  the  dancing  and  the 
singing.  The  white  man  saw,  at  first,  only  a  girl's 
face,  shy  and  innocent,  —  the  face  of  the  woodland 
maid  who  had  fired  his  fancy,  who  was  drawing  him 
through  the  wilderness  back  to  the  cabin  in  the  val 
ley.  But  after  a  while,  in  the  gray  stillness,  he  lost 
the  face,  and  suddenly  thought,  instead,  of  the  stone 
that  was  to  cover  his  father's  grave.  The  ship  that 
was  to  bring  the  great,  dark,  carven  slab  should  be  in 
by  now  ;  the  day  after  his  return  to  Williamsburgh 
the  stone  must  be  put  in  place,  covering  in  the  green 
sod  and  that  which  lay  below.  Here  lieth  in  the  hope 
of  a  joyful  resurrection  — 

His  mind  left  the  grave  in  the  churchyard  at  Wil 
liamsburgh,  and  visited  the  great  plantation  of  which 
he  was  now  sole  master.  There  was  the  house,  four 
square,  high-roofed,  many-windowed,  built  of  dark  red 
brick  that  glowed  behind  the  veil  of  the  walnuts  and 
the  oaks.  There,  too,  were  the  quarters,  —  the  home 
quarter,  that  at  the  creek,  that  on  the  ridge.  Fifty 
white  servants,  three  hundred  slaves,  —  and  he  was 
the  master.  The  honeysuckles  in  the  garden  that  had 
been  his  father's  pride,  the  shining  expanse  of  the 


24  AUDREY 

river,  the  ship  —  his  ship,  the  Golden  Rose  —  that 
was  to  take  him  home  to  England,  —  he  forgot  the 
night  and  the  forest,  and  saw  these  things  quite 
plainly.  Then  he  fell  to  thinking  of  London  and  the 
sweets  that  he  meant  to  taste,  the  heady  wine  of  youth 
and  life  that  he  meant  to  drain  to  the  lees.  He  was 
young ;  he  could  spare  the  years.  One  day  he  would 
come  back  to  Virginia,  to  the*  dim  old  garden  and 
quiet  house.  His  factor  would  give  account,  and  he 
would  settle  down  in  the  red  brick  house,  with  the 
tobacco  to  the  north  and  east,  the  corn  to  the  west, 
and  to  the  south  the  mighty  river,  —  the  river  silvered 
by  the  moon,  the  river  that  lay  just  beyond  him, 
gleaming  through  the  trees  — 

Startled  by  the  sudden  tightening  of  the  reins,  or 
by  the  tearing  of  some  frightened  thing  through  the 
canes  that  beset  the  low,  miry  bank,  the  horse  sprang 
aside ;  then  stood  trembling  with  pricked  ears.  The 
white  man  stared  at  the  stream  ;  turned  in  his  saddle 
and  stared  at  the  tree  trunks,  the  patches  of  moon 
light,  and  the  impenetrable  shadow  that  closed  each 
vista.  "  The  blazed  trees ! "  he  exclaimed  at  last. 
"  How  long  since  we  saw  one  ?  " 

The  slave  shook  his  head.  "  Juba  forgot  to  look. 
He  was  away  by  a  river  that  he  knew." 

"  We  have  passed  from  out  the  pines,"  said 
Haward.  "  These  are  oaks.  But  what  is  that  water, 
and  how  far  we  are  out  of  our  reckoning  the  Lord 
only  knows ! " 

As  he  spoke  he  pushed  his  horse  through  the  tall 
reeds  to  the  bank  of  the  stream.  Here  in  the  open, 
away  from  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  the  full  moon  had 
changed  the  night-time  into  a  wonderful,  silver  day. 
Narrow  above  and  below,  the  stream  widened  before 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       25 

him  into  a  fairy  basin,  rimmed  with  reeds,  unruffled, 
crystal-clear,  stiller  than  a  dream.  The  trees  that  grew 
upon  the  farther  side  were  faint  gray  clouds  in  the 
moonlight,  and  the  gold  of  the  fireflies  was  very  pale. 
From  over  the  water,  out  of  the  heart  of  the  moonlit 
wood,  came  the  song  of  a  mockingbird,  a  tumultuous 
ecstasy,  possessing  the  air  and  making  elfin  the  night. 

Haward  backed  his  horse  from  the  reeds  to  the  oak 
beneath  which  waited  the  negro.  "  'T  is  plain  that 
we  have  lost  our  way,  Juba,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  If  you  were  an  Indian,  we  should  turn  and  straight 
way  retrace  our  steps  to  the  blazed  trees.  Being 
what  you  are,  you  are  more  valuable  in  the  tobacco 
fields  than  in  the  forest.  Perhaps  this  is  the  stream 
which  flows  by  the  cabin  in  the  valley.  We  '11  follow 
it  down,  and  so  arrive,  at  least,  at  a  conclusion." 

They  dismounted,  and,  leading  their  horses,  fol 
lowed  the  stream  for  some  distance,  to  arrive  at  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  not  the  one  beside  which  they 
had  dined  that  day.  When  they  were  certain  of  this, 
they  turned  and  made  their  way  back  to  the  line  of 
reeds  which  they  had  broken  to  mark  their  starting- 
point.  By  now  the  moon  was  high,  and  the  mocking 
bird  in  the  wood  across  the  water  was  singing  madly. 
Turning  from  the  still,  moonlit  sheet,  the  silent 
reeds,  the  clear  mimicker  in  the  slumbrous  wood,  the 
two  wayfarers  plunged  into  the  darkness  beneath  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  oak-trees.  They  could  not 
have  ridden  far  from  the  pines  ;  in  a  very  little  while 
they  might  reach  and  recognize  the  path  which  they 
should  tread. 

An  hour  later,  the  great  trees,  oak  and  chestnut, 
beech  and  poplar,  suddenly  gave  way  to  saplings, 
many,  close-set,  and  overrun  with  grapevines.  So 


26  AUDREY 

dense  was  the  growth,  so  unyielding  the  curtain  of 
vines,  that  men  and  horses  were  brought  to  a  halt  as 
before  a  fortress  wall.  Again  they  turned,  and,  skirt 
ing  that  stubborn  network,  came  upon  a  swamp,  where 
leafless  trees,  white  as  leprosy,  stood  up  like  ghosts 
from  the  water  that  gleamed  between  the  lily-pads. 
Leaving  the  swamp  they  climbed  a  hill,  and  at  the 
summit  found  only  the  moon  and  the  stars  and  a  long 
plateau  of  sighing  grass.  Behind  them  were  the 
great  mountains  ;  before  them,  lesser  heights,  wooded 
hills,  narrow  valleys,  each  like  its  fellow,  each  indis 
tinct  and  shadowy,  with  no  sign  of  human  tenant. 

Haward  gazed  at  the  climbing  moon  and  at  the 
wide  and  universal  dimness  of  the  world  beneath ; 
then  turned  to  the  negro,  and  pointed  to  a  few  low 
trees  growing  at  the  eastern  end  of  the  plateau. 

"  Fasten  the  horses  there,  Juba,"  he  said.  "  We 
will  wait  upon  this  hilltop  until  morning.  When  the 
light  comes,  we  may  be  able  to  see  the  clearing  or  the 
smoke  from  the  cabin." 

When  the  horses  had  been  tethered,  master  and 
man  lay  down  upon  the  grass.  It  was  so  still  upon 
the  hilltop,  and  the  heavens  pressed  so  closely,  that 
the  slave  grew  restless  and  strove  to  make  talk.  Fail 
ing  in  this,  he  began  to  croon  a  savage,  mournful  air, 
and  presently,  forgetting  himself,  to  sing  outright. 

"  Be  quiet !  "  ordered  his  master.  "  There  may  be 
Indians  abroad." 

The  song  came  to  an  end  as  abruptly  as  it  had 
begun,  and  the  singer,  having  nothing  better  to  do, 
went  fast  asleep.  His  companion,  more  wakeful,  lay 
with  his  hands  behind  his  head  and  his  eyes  upon  the 
splendor  of  the  firmament.  Lying  so,  he  could  not 
see  the  valleys  nor  the  looming  mountains.  There 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       27 

were  only  the  dome  of  the  sky,  the  grass,  and  himself. 
He  stared  at  the  moon,  and  made  pictures  of  her 
shadowy  places  ;  then  fell  to  thinking  of  the  morrow, 
and  of  the  possibility  that  after  all  he  might  never 
find  again  the  cabin  in  the  valley.  While  he  laughed 
at  this  supposition,  yet  he  played  with  it.  He  was  in 
a  mood  to  think  the  loss  of  the  trail  of  the  expedition 
no  great  matter.  The  woods  were  full  of  game,  the 
waters  of  fish ;  he  and  Juba  had  only  to  keep  their 
faces  to  the  eastward,  and  a  fortnight  at  most  would 
bring  them  to  the  settlements.  But  the  valleys  folded 
among  the  hills  were  many  ;  what  if  the  one  he  sought 
should  still  elude  him  ?  What  if  the  cabin,  the  sugar- 
tree,  the  crystal  stream,  had  sunk  from  sight,  like  the 
city  in  one  of  Monsieur  Galland's  fantastic  tales? 
Perhaps  they  had  done  so,  —  the  spot  had  all  the  air 
of  a  bit  of  fairyland,  —  and  the  woodland  maid  was 
gone  to  walk  with  the  elves.  Well,  perchance  for  her 
it  would  be  better  so.  And  yet  it  would  be  pleasant 
if  she  should  climb  the  hillside  now  and  sit  beside 
him,  with  her  shy  dark  eyes  and  floating  hair.  Her 
hair  was  long  and  fine,  and  the  wind  would  lift  it ; 
her  face  was  fair,  and  another  than  the  wind  should 
kiss  it.  The  night  would  not  then  be  so  slow  in 
going. 

He  turned  upon  his  side,  and  looked  along  the 
grassy  summit  to  the  woods  upon  the  opposite  slope 
and  to  the  distant  mountains.  Dull  silver,  immuta 
ble,  perpetual,  they  reared  themselves  to  meet  the 
moonbeams.  Between  him  and  those  stern  and 
changeless  fronts,  pallid  as  with  snows,  stretched  the 
gray  woods.  The  moon  shone  very  brightly,  and 
there  was  no  wind.  So  unearthly  was  the  quiet  of 
the  night,  so  solemn  the  light,  so  high  and  still  and 


28  AUDREY 

calm  the  universe  around  him,  that  awe  fell  upon  his 
soul.  It  was  well  to  lie  upon  the  hilltop  and  guess  at 
the  riddle  of  the  world ;  now  dimly  to  see  the  mean 
ing,  now  to  lose  it  quite,  to  wonder,  to  think  of  death. 
The  easy  consciousness  that  for  him  death  was  scores 
of  years  away,  that  he  should  not  meet  the  spectre 
until  the  wine  was  all  drunken,  the  garlands  withered, 
and  he,  the  guest,  ready  to  depart,  made  these  specu 
lations  not  at  all  unpleasing.  He  looked  at  his  hand, 
blanched  by  the  moonlight,  lying  beside  him  upon  the 
grass,  and  thought  how  like  a  dead  hand  it  seemed, 
and  what  if  he  could  not  move  it,  nor  his  body,  nor 
could  ever  rise  from  the  grass,  but  must  lie  there 
upon  the  lonely  hilltop  in  the  untrodden  wilderness, 
until  that  which  had  ridden  and  hunted  and  passed  so 
buoyantly  through  life  should  become  but  a  few  dry 
bones,  a  handful  of  dust.  He  was  of  his  time,  and 
its  laxness  of  principle  and  conduct ;  if  he  held  within 
himself  the  potential  scholar,  statesman,  and  philo 
sopher,  there  were  also  the  skeptic,  the  egotist,  and 
the  libertine.  He  followed  the  fashion  and  disbelieved 
much,  but  he  knew  that  if  he  died  to-night  his  soul 
would  not  stay  with  his  body  upon  the  hilltop.  He 
wondered,  somewhat  grimly,  what  it  would  do  when 
so  much  that  had  clothed  it  round  —  pride  of  life, 
love  of  pleasure,  desire,  ambition  —  should  be  plucked 
away.  Poor  soul !  Surely  it  would  feel  itself  some 
thing  shrunken,  stripped  of  warmth,  shiveringly  bare 
to  all  the  winds  of  heaven.  The  radiance  of  the  moon 
usurped  the  sky,  but  behind  that  veil  of  light  the  in 
visible  and  multitudinous  stars  were  shining.  Beyond 
those  stars  were  other  stars,  beyond  those  yet  others ; 
on  and  on  went  the  stars,  wise  men  said.  Beyond 
them  all,  what  then  ?  And  where  was  the  place  of 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       29 

the  soul  ?  What  would  it  do  ?  What  heaven  or  hell 
would  it  find  or  make  for  itself  ?  Guesswork  all ! 

The  silver  pomp  of  the  night  began  to  be  oppressive 
to  him.  There  was  beauty,  but  it  was  a  beauty  cold 
and  distant,  infinitely  withdrawn  from  man  and  his 
concerns.  Woods  and  mountains  held  aloof,  com 
muning  with  the  stars.  They  were  kindred  and  of 
one  house ;  it  was  man  who  was  alien,  a  stranger  and 
alone.  The  hilltop  cared  not  that  he  lay  thereon; 
the  grass  would  grow  as  greenly  when  he  was  in  his 
grave ;  all  his  tragedies  since  time  began  he  might 
reenact  there  below,  and  the  mountains  would  not 
bend  to  look. 

He  flung  his  arm  across  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the 
moonlight,  and  tried  to  sleep.  Finding  the  attempt  a 
vain  one,  and  that  the  night  pressed  more  and  more 
heavily  upon  him,  he  sat  up  with  the  intention  of 
shaking  the  negro  awake,  and  so  providing  himself 
with  other  company  than  his  own  thoughts. 

His  eyes  had  been  upon  the  mountains,  but  now, 
with  the  sudden  movement,  he  faced  the  eastern  hori 
zon  and  a  long  cleft  between  the  hills.  Far  down 
this  opening  something  was  on  fire,  burning  fiercely 
and  redly.  Some  one  must  have  put  torch  to  the 
forest ;  and  yet  it  did  not  burn  as  trees  burn.  It  was 
like  a  bonfire  ...  it  was  a  bonfire  in  a  clearing! 
There  were  not  woods  about  it,  but  a  field  —  and  the 
glint  of  water  — 

The  negro,  awakened  by  foot  and  voice,  sprang  up, 
and  stood  bewildered  beside  his  master.  "It  is  the 
valley  that  we  have  been  seeking,  Juba,"  said  the  latter, 
speaking  rapidly  and  low.  "  That  burning  pile  is  the 
cabin,  and  't  is  like  that  there  are  Indians  between  us 
and  it !  Leave  the  horses ;  we  shall  go  faster  without 


30  AUDREY 

them.  Look  to  the  priming  of  your  gun,  and  make 
no  noise.  Now !  " 

Rapidly  descending  the  hill,  they  threw  themselves 
into  the  woods  at  its  base.  Here  they  could  not  see 
the  fire,  but  now  and  then,  as  they  ran,  they  caught 
the  glow,  far  down  the  lines  of  trees.  Though  they 
went  swiftly  they  went  warily  as  well,  keeping  an  eye 
and  ear  open  and  muskets  ready.  But  there  was  no 
sound  other  than  their  own  quick  footfalls  upon  the 
floor  of  rotting  leaves,  or  the  eager  brushing  of  their 
bodies  through  occasional  undergrowth  ;  no  sight  but 
the  serried  trees  and  the  checkered  light  and  shade 
upon  the  ground. 

They  came  to  the  shallow  stream  that  flashed 
through  the  valley,  and  crossing  it  found  themselves 
on  cleared  ground,  with  only  a  long  strip  of  corn 
between  them  and  what  had  been  a  home  for  English 
folk.  It  was  that  no  longer:  for  lack  of  fuel  the 
flames  were  dying  down ;  there  was  only  a  charred 
and  smoking  pile,  out  of  which  leaped  here  and  there 
a  red  tongue. 

Haward  had  expected  to  hear  a  noise  of  savage 
triumph,  and  to  see  dark  figures  moving  about  their 
handiwork.  There  was  no  noise,  and  the  moonlight 
showed  no  living  being.  The  night  was  changelessly 
still  and  bright ;  the  tragedy  had  been  played,  and 
the  mountains  and  the  hills  and  the  running  water 
had  not  looked. 

It  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  break  through  the 
rustling  corn  and  reach  the  smouldering  logs.  Once 
before  them,  there  seemed  naught  to  do  but  to  stand 
and  stare  at  the  ruin,  until  a  tongue  of  flame  caught 
upon  a  piece  of  uncharred  wood,  and  showed  them 
the  body  of  the  pioneer  lying  at  a  little  distance  from 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       31 

the  stone  that  had  formed  his  doorstep.  At  a  sign 
from  Haward  the  negro  went  and  turned  it  over,  then 
let  it  sink  again  into  the  seared  grass.  "  Two  arrows, 
Marse  Duke,"  he  said,  coming  back  to  the  other's 
side.  "  An'  they  've  taken  his  scalp." 

Three  times  Haward  made  the  round  of  the  yet 
burning  heap.  Was  it  only  ruined  and  fallen  walls, 
or  was  it  a  funeral  pyre  as  well  ?  To  know,  he  must 
wait  for  the  day  and  until  the  fire  had  burned  itself 
out.  If  the  former  were  the  case,  if  the  dead  man 
alone  kept  the  valley,  then  now,  through  the  forest 
and  the  moonlight,  captives  were  being  haled  to  some 
Indian  village,  and  to  a  fate  more  terrible  than  that 
of  the  man  who  lay  there  upon  the  grass  with  an 
arrow  through  his  heart. 

If  the  girl  were  still  alive,  yet  was  she  dead  to  him. 
He  was  no  Quixote  to  tilt  with  windmills.  Had  a 
way  to  rescue  her  lain  fair  before  him,  he  would  have 
risked  his  life  without  a  thought.  But  the  woods 
were  deep  and  pathless,  and  only  an  Indian  could  find 
and  keep  a  trail  by  night.  To  challenge  the  wilder 
ness  ;  to  strike  blindly  at  the  forest,  now  here,  now 
there;  to  dare  all,  and  know  that  it  was  hopeless 
daring,  —  a  madman  might  do  this  for  love.  But  it 
was  only  Haward' s  fancy  that  had  been  touched,  and 
if  he  lacked  not  courage,  neither  did  he  lack  a  certain 
cool  good  sense  which  divided  for  him  the  possible 
from  that  which  was  impossible,  and  therefore  not  to 
be  undertaken. 

Turning  from  the  ruin,  he  walked  across  the  tram 
pled  sward  to  the  sugar-tree  in  whose  shade,  in  the 
golden  afternoon,  he  had  sung  to  his  companions  and 
to  a  simple  girl.  Idle  and  happy  and  far  from  harm 
had  the  valley  seemed. 


32  AUDREY 

««  Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

Suddenly  he  found  that  he  was  trembling,  and  that 
a  sensation  of  faintness  and  of  dull  and  sick  revolt 
against  all  things  under  the  stars  was  upon  him.  Sit 
ting  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  tree,  he  rested  his  face 
in  his  hands  and  shut  his  eyes,  preferring  the  darkness 
within  to  that  outer  night  which  hid  not  and  cared 
not,  which  was  so  coldly  at  peace.  He  was  young, 
and  though  stories  of  such  dismal  things  as  that  before 
him  were  part  of  the  stock  in  trade  of  every  ancient, 
garrulous  man  or  woman  of  his  acquaintance,  they 
had  been  for  him  but  tales;  not  horrible  truths  to 
stare  him  in  the  face.  He  had  seen  his  father  die ; 
but  he  had  died  in  his  bed,  and  like  one  who  went  to 
sleep. 

The  negro  had  followed  him,  and  now  stood  with 
his  eyes  upon  the  dying  flames,  muttering  to  himself 
some  heathenish  charm.  When  it  was  ended,  he 
looked  about  him  uneasily  for  a  time ;  then  bent  and 
plucked  his  master  by  the  sleeve.  "We  cyarn'  do 
nothin'  here,  Marse  Duke,"  he  whispered.  "  An'  the 
wolves  may  get  the  horses." 

With  a  laugh  and  a  groan,  the  young  man  rose  to 
his  feet.  "  That  is  true,  Juba,"  he  said.  "  It 's  all 
over  here,  —  we  were  too  late.  And  it 's  not  a  plea 
sant  place  to  lie  awake  in,  waiting  for  the  morning. 
We  '11  go  back  to  the  hilltop." 

Leaving  the  tree,  they  struck  across  the  grass  and 
entered  the  strip  of  corn.  Something  low  and  dark 
that  had  lain  upon  the  ground  started  up  before  them, 
and  ran  down  the  narrow  way  between  the  stalks. 
Haward  made  after  it  and  caught  it 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       33 

"  Child ! "  he  cried.     "  Where  are  the  others  ?  " 

The  child  had  struggled  for  a  moment,  desperately 
if  weakly,  but  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  lay  still  in 
his  grasp,  with  her  eyes  upon  his  face.  In  the  moon 
light  each  could  see  the  other  quite  plainly.  Raising 
her  in  his  arms,  Haward  bore  her  to  the  brink  of  the 
stream,  laved  her  face  and  chafed  the  small,  cold 
hands. 

"  Now  tell  me,  Audrey,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Audrey 
is  your  name,  is  n't  it  ?  Cry,  if  you  like,  child,  but 
try  to  tell  me." 

Audrey  did  not  cry.  She  was  very,  very  tired,  and 
she  wanted  to  go  to  sleep.  "  The  Indians  came,"  she 
told  him  in  a  whisper,  with  her  head  upon  his  breast. 
"  We  all  waked  up,  and  father  fired  at  them  through 
the  hole  in  the  door.  Then  they  broke  the  door  down, 
and  he  went  outside,  and  they  killed  him.  Mother 
put  me  under  the  bed,  and  told  me  to  stay  there,  and 
to  make  no  noise.  Then  the  Indians  came  in  at  the 
door,  and  killed  her  and  Molly  and  Robin.  I  don't 
remember  anything  after  that,  —  maybe  I  went  to 
sleep.  When  I  was  awake  again  the  Indians  were 
gone,  but  there  was  fire  and  smoke  everywhere.  I 
was  afraid  of  the  fire,  and  so  I  crept  from  under  the 
bed,  and  kissed  mother  and  Molly  and  Robin,  and  left 
them  lying  in  the  cabin,  and  came  away." 

She  sighed  with  weariness,  and  the  hand  with  which 
she  put  back  her  dark  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her 
face  was  almost  too  heavy  to  lift.  "I  sat  beside 
father  and  watched  the  fire,"  she  said.  "  And  then  I 
heard  you  and  the  black  man  coming  over  the  stones 
in  the  stream.  I  thought  that  you  were  Indians,  and 
I  went  and  hid  in  the  corn." 

Her  voice  failed,  and  her  eyelids  drooped.     In  some 


34:  AUDREY 

anxiety  Haward  watched  her  breathing,  and  felt  for 
the  pulse  in  the  slight  brown  wrist ;  then,  satisfied,  he 
lifted  the  light  burden,  and,  nodding  to  the  negro  to 
go  before,  recommenced  his  progress  to  the  hill  which 
he  had  left  an  hour  agone. 

It  was  not  far  away.  He  could  see  the  bare  summit 
above  the  treetops,  and  in  a  little  while  they  were 
upon  its  slope.  A  minute  more  and  they  came  to  the 
clump  of  trees,  and  found  the  horses  in  safety.  Ha 
ward  paused  to  take  from  the  roll  strapped  behind  his 
saddle  a  riding  cloak ;  then,  leaving  the  negro  with 
the  horses,  climbed  to  the  grassy  level.  Here  he 
spread  the  cloak  upon  the  ground,  and  laid  the  sleep 
ing  child  upon  it,  which  done,  he  stood  and  looked  at 
his  new-found  charge  for  a  moment;  then  turning, 
began  to  pace  up  and  down  upon  the  hilltop. 

It  was  necessary  to  decide  upon  a  course  of  action. 
They  had  the  horses,  the  two  muskets,  powder  and 
shot.  The  earth  was  dry  and  warm,  and  the  skies 
were  cloudless.  Was  it  best  to  push  on  to  Germanna, 
or  was  it  best  to  wait  down  there  in  the  valley  for  the 
return  of  the  Governor  and  his  party  ?  They  would 
come  that  way,  that  was  certain,  and  would  look  to 
find  him  there.  If  they  found  only  the  ruined  cabin, 
they  might  think  him  dead  or  taken  by  the  Indians, 
and  an  attempt  to  seek  him,  as  dangerous,  perhaps,  as 
fruitless,  might  be  made.  He  decided  that  he  would 
wait.  To-morrow  he  would  take  Juba  and  the  horses 
and  the  child  and  go  down  into  the  valley ;  not  back 
to  the  sugar-tree  and  that  yet  smouldering  pyre,  but 
to  the  woods  on  this  side  of  the  stream. 

This  plan  thought  out,  he  went  and  took  his  seat 
beside  the  child.  She  was  moaning  in  her  sleep,  and 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       35 

he  bent  over  and  soothed  her.  When  she  was  quiet 
he  still  kept  her  hand  in  his,  as  he  sat  there  waiting 
for  the  dawn.  He  gave  the  child  small  thought.  To 
gether  he  and  Juba  must  care  for  her  until  they  could 
rejoin  the  expedition ;  then  the  Governor,  who  was  so 
fond  of  children,  might  take  her  in  hand,  and  give 
her  for  nurse  old  Dominick,  who  was  as  gentle  as 
a  woman.  Once  at  Germanna  perhaps  some  scolding 
Hausfrau  would  take  her,  for  the  sake  of  the  scrub 
bing  and  lifting  to  be  gotten  out  of  those  small  hands 
and  that  slender  frame.  If  no$,  she  must  on  to  Wil- 
liamsburgh  and  the  keeping  of  the  vestry  there.  The 
next  Orphan  Court  would  bind  her  to  some  master  or 
mistress  who  might  (or  might  not)  be  kind  to  her,  and 
so  there  would  be  an  end  to  the  matter. 

The  day  was  breaking.  Moon  and  stars  were  gone, 
and  the  east  was  dull  pink,  like  faded  roses.  A  rib 
bon  of  silver  mist,  marking  the  course  of  the  stream 
below,  drew  itself  like  a  serpent  through  the  woods 
that  were  changing  from  gray  to  green.  The  dank 
smell  of  early  morning  rose  from  the  dew-drenched 
earth,  and  in  the  countless  trees  of  the  forest  the  birds 
began  to  sing. 

A  word  or  phrase  which  is  as  common  and  familiar 
as  our  hand  may,  in  some  one  minute  of  time,  take  on 
a  significance  and  present  a  face  so  keen  and  strange 
that  it  is  as  if  we  had  never  met  it  before.  An 
Orphan  Court !  Again  he  said  the  words  to  himself, 
and  then  aloud.  No  doubt  the  law  did  its  best  for 
the  fatherless  and  motherless,  for  such  waifs  and 
strays  as  that  which  lay  beside  him.  When  it  bound 
out  children,  it  was  most  emphatic  that  they  should 
be  fed  and  clothed  and  taught ;  not  starved  or  beaten 


36  AUDREY 

unduly,  or  let  to  grow  up  ignorant  as  negroes.  Some 
times  the  law  was  obeyed,  sometimes  not. 

The  roses  in  the  east  bloomed  again,  and  the  pink 
of  their  petals  melted  into  the  clear  blue  of  the  upper 
skies.  Because  their  beauty  compelled  him  Haward 
looked  at  the  heavens.  The  Court  of  the  Orphan ! 
.  .  .  When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  the 
Lord  taJceth  me  up.  Haward  acknowledged  with 
surprise  that  portions  of  the  Psalter  did  somehow  stick 
in  the  memory. 

The  face  of  the  chjld  was  dark  and  thin,  but  the 
eyes  were  large  and  there  was  promise  in  the  mouth. 
It  was  a  pity  — 

He  looked  at  her  again,  and  suddenly  resolved  that 
he,  Marmaduke  Haward,  would  provide  for  her  future. 
When  they  met  once  more,  he  should  tell  the  Governor 
and  his  brother  adventurers  as  much  ;  and  if  they 
chose  to  laugh,  why,  let  them  do  so  !  He  would  take 
the  child  to  Williamsburgh  with  him,  and  get  some 
woman  to  tend  her  until  he  could  find  kind  and  decent 
folk  with  whom  to  bestow  her.  There  were  the  new 
minister  of  Fair  View  parish  and  his  wife,  —  they 
might  do.  He  would  give  them  two  thousand  pounds 
of  sweet-scented  a  year  for  the  child's  maintenance. 
Oh,  she  should  be  well  cared  for  !  He  would  —  if  he 
thought  of  it  —  send  her  gifts  from  London;  and 
when  she  was  grown,  and  asked  in  marriage,  he  would 
give  her  for  dowry  a  hundred  acres  of  land. 

As  the  strengthening  rays  of  the  sun,  shining  alike 
upon  the  just  and  the  unjust,  warmed  his  body,  so  his 
own  benevolence  warmed  his  heart.  He  knew  that 
he  was  doing  a  generous  thing,  and  his  soul  felt  in 
tune  with  the  beamy  light,  the  caroling  of  the  birds, 
the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  morning.  When 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  ORPHAN       37 

at  last  the  child  awoke,  and,  the  recollection  of  the 
night  coming  full  upon  her,  clung  to  him,  weeping 
and  trembling,  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  com 
forted  her  with  all  the  pet  names  his  memory  could 
conjure  up. 


CHAPTER  III 
DARDEN'S  AUDREY 

IT  was  May  Day  in  Virginia,  in  the  year  1727.  In 
England  there  were  George  the  First,  by  the  grace  of 
God  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland  King  and 
Defender  of  the  Faith ;  my  Lord  of  Orkney,  Governor 
in  chief  of  Virginia ;  and  William  Gooch,  newly  ap 
pointed  Lieutenant  Governor.  In  Virginia  there  were 
Colonel  Kobert  Carter,  President  of  the  Council  and 
Governor  pro  tern. ;  the  Council  itself ;  and  Mistress 
Martha  Jaquelin. 

By  virtue  of  her  good  looks  and  sprightliness,  the 
position  of  her  father  in  the  community,  and  the  fact 
that  this  1st  of  May  was  one  and  the  same  with  her 
sixteenth  birthday,  young  Mistress  Jaquelin  was  May 
Queen  in  Jamestown.  And  because  her  father  was  a 
worthy  gentleman  and  a  gay  one,  with  French  blood 
in  his  veins  and  Virginia  hospitality  in  his  heart,  he 
had  made  a  feast  for  divers  of  his  acquaintances,  and, 
moreover,  had  provided,  in  a  grassy  meadow  down  by 
the  water  side,  a  noble  and  seasonable  entertainment 
for  them,  and  for  the  handful  of  townsfolk,  and  for  all 
chance  comers. 

Meadow  and  woodland  and  marsh,  ploughed  earth 
and  blossoming  orchards,  lay  warm  in  the  sunshine. 
Even  the  ruined  town,  fallen  from  her  estate,  and  be 
come  but  as  a  handmaid  to  her  younger  sister,  put  a 


DARDEN'S  AUDREY  39 

good  face  upon  her  melancholy  fortunes.  Honeysuckle 
and  ivy  embraced  and  hid  crumbling  walls,  broken 
foundations,  mounds  of  brick  and  rubbish,  all  the  un 
touched  memorials  of  the  last  burning  of  the  place. 
Grass  grew  in  the  street,  and  the  silent  square  was 
strewn  with  the  gold  of  the  buttercups.  The  houses 
that  yet  stood  and  were  lived  in  might  have  been 
counted  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand,  with  the  thumb 
for  the  church.  But  in  their  gardens  the  flowers 
bloomed  gayly,  and  the  sycamores  and  mulberries  in 
the  churchyard  were  haunts  of  song.  The  dead  below 
had  music,  and  violets  in  the  blowing  grass,  and  the 
undertone  of  the  river.  Perhaps  they  liked  the  peace 
of  the  town  that  was  dead  as  they  were  dead ;  that, 
like  them,  had  seen  of  the  travail  of  life,  and  now, 
with  shut  eyes  and  folded  hands,  knew  that  it  was 
vanity. 

But  the  Jaquelin  house  was  built  to  the  eastward  of 
the  churchyard  and  the  ruins  of  the  town,  and,  facing 
the  sparkling  river,  squarely  turned  its  back  upon  the 
quiet  desolation  at  the  upper  end  of  the  island  and 
upon  the  text  from  Ecclesiastes. 

In  the  level  meadow,  around  a  Maypole  gay  with  gar 
lands  and  with  fluttering  ribbons,  the  grass  had  been 
closely  mown,  for  there  were  to  be  foot-races  and  wrest 
ling  bouts  for  the  amusement  of  the  guests.  Beneath 
a  spreading  tree  a  dozen  fiddlers  put  their  instruments 
in  tune,  while  behind  the  open  windows  of  a  small, 
ruinous  house,  dwelt  in  by  the  sexton,  a  rustic  choir 
was  trying  over  "  The  Beggar's  Daughter  of  Bednall 
Green,"  Young  men  and  maidens  of  the  meaner 
sort,  drawn  from  the  surrounding  country,  from  small 
plantation,  store  and  ordinary,  mill  and  ferry,  clad  in 
their  holiday  best  and  prone  to  laughter,  strayed  here 


40  AUDREY 

and  there,  or,  walking  up  and  down  the  river  bank, 
where  it  commanded  a  view  of  both  the  landing  and 
the  road,  watched  for  the  coming  of  the  gentlefolk. 
Children,  too,  were  not  lacking,  but  rolled  amidst  the 
buttercups  or  caught  at  the  ribbons  flying  from  the 
Maypole,  while  a,ged  folk  sat  in  the  sun,  and  a  pro 
cession  of  wide-lipped  negroes,  carrying  benches  and 
chairs,  advanced  to  the  shaven  green  and  put  the  seats 
in  order  about  the  sylvan  stage.  It  was  but  nine  of 
the  clock,  and  the  shadow  of  the  Maypole  was  long 
upon  the  grass.  Along  the  slightly  rising  ground  be 
hind  the  meadow  stretched  an  apple  orchard  in  full 
bloom,  and  between  that  line  of  rose  and  snow  and  the 
lapping  of  the  tide  upon  the  yellow  sands  lay,  for  the 
length  of  a  spring  day,  the  kingdom  of  all  content. 

The  shadow  of  the  Maypole  was  not  much  shrunken 
when  the  guests  of  the  house  of  Jaquelin  began  to  ar 
rive.  First  to  come,  and  from  farthest  away,  was  Mr. 
Richard  Ambler,  of  Yorktown,  who  had  ridden  from 
that  place  to  Williamsburgh  the  afternoon  before,  and 
had  that  morning  used  the  planter's  pace  to  James 
town, —  his  industry  being  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
courting  the  May  Queen's  elder  sister.  Following  him 
came  five  Lees  in  a  chariot,  then  a  delegation  of  Bur- 
wells,  then  two  Digges  in  a  chaise.  A  Bland  and 
a  Bassett  and  a  Eandolph  came  on  horseback,  while  a 
barge  brought  up  river  a  bevy  of  blooming  Carters,  a 
white-sailed  sloop  from  Warwick  landed  a  dozen  Carys, 
great  and  small,  and  two  periaguas,  filled  with  Harri 
sons,  Aliens,  and  Cockes,  shot  over  from  the  Surrey 
shore. 

From  a  stand  at  one  end  of  the  grassy  stage,  trum 
pet  and  drum  proclaimed  that  the  company  had  gath 
ered  beneath  the  sycamores  before  the  house,  and  was 


DARDEN'S  AUDREY  41 

about  to  enter  the  meadow.  Shrill-voiced  mothers 
warned  their  children  from  the  Maypole,  the  fiddlers 
ceased  their  twanging,  and  Pretty  Bessee,  her  name 
cut  in  twain,  died  upon  the  air.  The  throng  of  hum 
ble  folk  —  largely  made  up  of  contestants  for  the 
prizes  of  the  day,  and  of  their  friends  and  kindred  — 
scurried  to  its  appointed  place,  and  with  the  issuing 
from  the  house  gates  of  the  May  Queen  and  her  court 
the  festivities  commenced. 

An  hour  later,  in  the  midst  of  a  bout  at  quarterstaff 
between  the  Jamestown  blacksmith  and  the  miller  from 
Princess  Creek,  a  coach  and  four,  accompanied  by  a 
horseman,  crossed  the  neck,  rolled  through  the  street, 
and,  entering  the  meadow,  drew  up  a  hundred  feet 
from  the  ring  of  spectators. 

The  eyes  of  the  commonalty  still  hung  upon  every 
motion  of  the  blacksmith  and  the  miller,  but  by  the 
people  of  quality  the  cudgelers  were  for  the  moment 
quite  forgot.  The  head  of  the  house  of  Jaquelin  hur 
ried  over  the  grass  to  the  coach  door.  "  Ha,  Colonel 
Byrd  1  When  we  heard  that  you  were  staying  over 
night  at  Green  Spring,  we  hoped  that,  being  so  near, 
you  would  come  to  our  merrymaking.  Mistress  Eve 
lyn,  I  kiss  your  hands.  Though  we  can't  give  you  the 
diversions  of  Spring  Garden,  yet  such  as  we  have  are 
at  your  feet.  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward,  your  servant, 
sir!  Virginia  has  missed  you  those  ten  years  and 
more.  We  were  heartily  glad  to  hear,  tj  other  day, 
that  the  Golden  Rose  had  brought  you  home." 

As  he  spoke  the  worthy  gentleman  strove  to  open 
the  coach  door ;  but  the  horseman,  to  whom  the  latter 
part  of  his  speech  was  addressed,  and  who  had  now 
dismounted,  was  beforehand  with  him.  The  door 
swung  open,  and  a  young  lady,  of  a  delicate  and  pen- 


42  AUDREY 

sive  beauty,  placed  one  hand  upon  the  deferential 
arm  of  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  and  descended  from 
the  painted  coach  to  the  flower-enameled  sward.  The 
women  amongst  the  assembled  guests  fluttered  and 
whispered ;  for  this  was  youth,  beauty,  wealth,  Lon 
don,  and  the  Court,  all  drawn  in  the  person  of  Mis 
tress  Evelyn  Byrd,  bred  since  childhood  in  the  politest 
society  of  England,  newly  returned  with  her  father 
to  his  estate  of  Westover  in  Virginia,  and,  from  her 
garlanded  gypsy  hat  to  the  point  of  her  silken  shoe, 
suggestive  of  the  rainbow  world  of  mode. 

Her  father  —  alert,  vivacious,  handsome,  with  finely 
cut  lips  that  were  quick  to  smile,  and  dark  eyes  that 
smiled  when  the  lips  were  still  —  followed  her  to  the 
earth,  shook  out  his  ruffles,  and  extended  his  gold 
snuffbox  to  his  good  friend  Mr.  Jaquelin.  The  gen 
tleman  who  had  ridden  beside  the  coach  threw  the 
reins  of  his  horse  to  one  of  the  negroes  who  had  come 
running  from  the  Jaquelin  stables,  and,  together  with 
their  host,  the  three  walked  across  the  strip  of  grass 
to  the  row  of  expectant  gentry.  Down  went  the  town- 
bred  lady  until  the  skirt  of  her  blue-green  gown  lay 
in  folds  upon  the  buttercups ;  down  went  the  ladies 
opposite  in  curtsies  as  profound,  if  less  exquisitely 
graceful.  Off  came  the  hats  of  the  gentlemen;  the 
bows  were  of  the  lowest ;  snuffboxes  were  drawn  out, 
handkerchiefs  of  fine  holland  flourished;  the  wel 
coming  speeches  were  hearty  and  not  unpolished. 

It  was  a  society  less  provincial  than  that  of  more 
than  one  shire  that  was  nearer  to  London  by  a  thou 
sand  leagues.  It  dwelt  upon  the  banks  of  the  Chesa 
peake  and  of  great  rivers;  ships  dropped  their  anchors 
before  its  very  doors.  Now  and  again  the  planter 
followed  his  tobacco  aboard.  The  sands  did  not  then 


DARDEN'S  AUDREY  43 

run  so  swiftly  through  the  hourglass ;  if  the  voyage 
to  England  was  long,  why,  so  was  life  !  The  planters 
went,  sold  their  tobacco,  —  Sweet-scented,  E.  Dees, 
Oronoko,  Cowpen,  Non-burning,  —  talked  with  their 
agents,  visited  their  English  kindred ;  saw  the  town, 
the  opera,  and  the  play,  —  perhaps,  afar  off,  the  King ; 
and  returned  to  Virginia  and  their  plantations  with 
the  last  but  one  novelty  in  ideas,  manner,  and  dress. 
Of  their  sons  not  a  few  were  educated  in  English 
schools,  while  their  wives  and  daughters,  if  for  the 
most  part  they  saw  the  enchanted  ground  only  through 
the  eyes  of  husband,  father,  or  brother,  yet  followed 
its  fashions,  when  learned,  with  religious  zeal.  In 
Williamsburgh,  where  all  men  went  on  occasion, 
there  was  polite  enough  living :  there  were  the  col 
lege,  the  Capitol,  and  the  playhouse ;  the  palace  was 
a  toy  St.  James ;  the  Governors  that  came  and  went 
almost  as  proper  gentlemen,  fitted  to  rule  over  Eng 
lish  people,  as  if  they  had  been  born  in  Hanover 
and  could  not  speak  their  subjects'  tongue. 

So  it  was  that  the  assembly  which  had  risen  to 
greet  Mr.  Jaquelin's  latest  guests,  besides  being  suffi 
ciently  well  born,  was  not  at  all  ill  bred,  nor  unin 
formed,  nor  untraveled.  But  it  was  not  of  the  gay 
world  as  were  the  three  whom  it  welcomed.  It  had 
spent  only  months,  not  years,  in  England  ;  it  had 
never  kissed  the  King's  hand ;  it  did  not  know  Bath 
nor  the  Wells ;  it  was  innocent  of  drums  and  routs 
and  masquerades ;  had  not  even  a  speaking  acquaint 
ance  with  great  lords  and  ladies ;  had  never  supped 
with  Pope,  or  been  grimly  smiled  upon  by  the  Dean 
of  St.  Patrick's,  or  courted  by  the  Earl  of  Peter 
borough.  It  had  not,  like  the  elder  of  the  two  men, 
studied  in  the  Low  Countries,  visited  the  Court  of 


44  AUDREY 

France,  and  contracted  friendships  with  men  of  illus 
trious  names ;  nor,  like  the  younger,  had  it  written  a 
play  that  ran  for  two  weeks,  fought  a  duel  in  the 
Field  of  Forty  Footsteps,  and  lost  and  won  at  the 
Cocoa  Tree,  between  the  lighting  and  snuffing  of  the 
candles,  three  thousand  pounds. 

Therefore  it  stood  slightly  in  awe  of  the  wit  and 
manners  and  fine  feathers,  curled  newest  fashion,  of 
its  sometime  friends  and  neighbors,  and  its  welcome, 
if  warm  at  heart,  was  stiff  as  cloth  of  gold  with  cere 
mony.  The  May  Queen  tripped  in  her  speech  as  she 
besought  Mistress  Evelyn  to  take  the  flower-wreathed 
great  chair  standing  proudly  forth  from  the  humbler 
seats,  and  colored  charmingly  at  the  lady  of  fashion's 
smiling  shake  of  the  head  and  few  graceful  words  of 
homage.  The  young  men  slyly  noted  the  length  of  the 
Colonel's  periwig  and  the  quality  of  Mr.  Hayward's 
Mechlin,  while  their  elders,  suddenly  lacking  mate 
rial  for  discourse,  made  shift  to  take  a  deal  of  snuff. 
The  Colonel  took  matters  into  his  own  capable  hands. 

"  Mr.  Jaquelin,  I  wish  that  my  tobacco  at  West- 
over  may  look  as  finely  a  fortnight  hence  as  does  yours 
to-day !  There  promise  to  be  more  Frenchmen  in  my 
fields  than  Germans  at  St.  James.  Mr.  Cary,  if  I 
come  to  Denbigh  when  the  peaches  are  ripe,  will  you 
teach  me  to  make  persico  ?  Mr.  Allen,  I  hear  that 
you  breed  cocks  as  courageous  as  those  of  Tanagra. 
I  shall  borrow  from  you  for  a  fight  that  I  mean  to 
give.  Ladies,  for  how  much  gold  will  you  sell  the 
recipe  for  that  balm  of  Mecca  you  must  use  ?  There 
are  dames  at  Court  would  come  barefoot  to  Virginia 
for  so  dazzling  a  bloom.  Why  do  you  patch  only 
upon  the  Whig  side  of  the  face  ?  Are  you  all  of  one 
camp,  and  does  not  one  of  you  grow  a  white  rosebush 


DARDEN'S  AUDREY  45 

against  the  29th  of  May?  May  it  please  your  Ma 
jesty  the  May  Queen,  I  shall  watch  the  sports  from 
this  seat  upon  your  right  hand.  Egad,  the  miller 
quits  himself  as  though  he  were  the  moss-grown  fel 
low  of  Sherwood  Forest !  " 

The  ice  had  thawed  ;  and  by  the  time  the  victorious 
miller  had  been  pushed  forward  to  receive  the  smart 
cocked  hat  which  was  the  Virginia  rendition  of  the 
crown  of  wild  olive,  it  had  quite  melted.  Conversa 
tion  became  general,  and  food  was  found  or  made  for 
laughter.  When  the  twelve  fiddlers  who  succeeded 
the  blacksmith  and  the  miller  came  trooping  upon  the 
green,  they  played,  one  by  one,  to  perhaps  as  light- 
hearted  a  company  as  a  May  Day  ever  shone  upon. 
All  their  tunes  were  gay  and  lively  ones,  and  the 
younger  men  moved  their  feet  to  the  music,  while  a 
Strephon  at  the  lower  end  of  the  lists  seized  upon  a 
blooming  Chloe,  and  the  two  began  to  dance  "  as  if," 
quoth  the  Colonel,  "the  musicians  were  so  many 
tarantula  doctors." 

A  flower- wreathed  instrument  of  his  calling  went  to 
the  player  of  the  sprightliest  air ;  after  which  award- 
ment,  the  fiddlers,  each  to  the  tune  of  his  own  choos 
ing,  marched  off  the  green  to  make  room  for  Pretty 
Bessee,  her  father  the  beggar,  and  her  suitors  the 
innkeeper,  the  merchant,  the  gentleman,  and  the 
knight. 

The  high,  quick  notes  of  the  song  suited  the  sun 
shiny  weather,  the  sheen  of  the  river,  the  azure  skies. 
A  light  wind  brought  from  the  orchard  a  vagrant 
troop  of  pink  and  white  petals  to  camp  upon  the 
silken  sleeve  of  Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd.  The  gentle 
man  sitting  beside  her  gathered  them  up  and  gave 
them  again  to  the  breeze. 


46  AUDREY 

"  It  sounds  sweetly  enough,"  he  said,  "  but  terribly 
old-fashioned :  — 

'  I  weigh  not  true  love  by  the  weight  of  the  purse, 
And  beauty  is  beauty  in  every  degree.' 

That 's  not  Court  doctrine." 

The  lady  to  whom  he  spoke  rested  her  cheek  upon 
her  hand,  and  looked  past  the  singers  to  the  blos 
soming  slope  and  the  sky  above.  uSo  much  the 
worse  for  the  Court,"  she  said.  "  So  much  the  better 
for"  — 

Haward  glanced  at  her.  "  For  Virginia  ? "  he 
ended,  with  a  smile.  "  Do  you  think  that  they  do 
not  weigh  love  with  gold  here  in  Virginia,  Evelyn? 
It  is  n't  really  Arcady." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  some  place,  somewhere," 
she  answered  quietly.  "  I  did  not  say  Virginia.  In 
deed,  from  what  travelers  like  yourself  have  told  me, 
I  think  the  country  lies  not  upon  this  earth.  But  the 
story  is  at  an  end,  and  we  must  applaud  with  the  rest. 
It  sounded  sweetly,  after  all,  —  though  it  was  only  a 
lying  song.  What  next  ?  " 

Her  father,  from  his  station  beside  the  May  Queen, 
caught  the  question,  and  broke  the  flow  of  his  smiling 
compliments  to  answer  it.  "  A  race  between  young 
girls,  my  love,  —  the  lucky  fair  who  proves  her  de 
scent  from  Atalanta  to  find,  not  a  golden  apple,  but 
a  golden  guinea.  Here  come  from  the  sexton's  house 
the  pretty  light  o'  heels  !  " 

The  crowd,  gentle  and  simple,  arose,  and  pushed 
back  all  benches,  stools,  and  chairs,  so  as  to  enlarge 
the  circumference  of  the  ring,  and  the  six  girls  who 
were  to  run  stepped  out  upon  the  green.  The  young 
est  son  of  the  house  of  Jaquelin  checked  them  off  in 
a  shrill  treble :  — 


DARDEN'S  AUDREY  47 

"The  blacksmith's  Meg — Mall  and  Jenny  from  the 
crossroads  ordinary  —  the  Widow  Constance's  Bar 
bara —  red-headed  Bess — Parson  Darden's  Audrey  !  " 

A  tall,  thin,  grave  gentleman,  standing  behind 
Haward,  gave  an  impatient  jerk  of  his  body  and  said 
something  beneath  his  breath.  Haward  looked  over 
his  shoulder.  "  Ha,  Mr.  Le  Neve  !  I  did  not  know 
you  were  there.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you 
read  at  Williamsburgh  last  Sunday  afternoon,  — 
though  this  is  your  parish,  I  believe?  What  was 
that  last  name  that  the  youngster  cried  ?  I  failed  to 
catch  it." 

"Audrey,  sir,"  answered  the  minister  of  James 
City  parish  ;  "  Gideon  Darden's  Audrey.  You  can't 
but  have  heard  of  Darden  ?  A  minister  of  the  gos 
pel  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  sir ;  and  a  scandal,  a 
shame,  and  a  stumbling-block  to  the  Church !  A  foul- 
mouthed,  brawling,  learned  sot !  A  stranger  to  good 
works,  but  a  frequenter  of  tippling  houses  !  A  bra 
zen,  dissembling,  atheistical  Demas,  who  will  neither 
let  go  of  the  lusts  of  the  flesh  nor  of  his  parish,  —  a 
sweet-scented  parish,  sir,  with  the  best  glebe  in  three 
counties  !  And  he 's  inducted,  sir,  inducted,  which  is 
more  than  most  of  the  clergy  of  Virginia,  who  neither 
fight  nor  drink  nor  swear,  can  say  for  themselves  !  " 

The  minister  had  lost  his  gravity,  and  spoke  with 
warmth  and  bitterness.  As  he  paused  for  breath, 
Mistress  Evelyn  took  her  eyes  from  the  group  of 
those  about  to  run  and  opened  her  fan.  "  A  careless 
father,  at  least,"  she  said.  "  If  he  hath  learning,  he 
should  know  better  than  to  set  his  daughter  there." 

"  She 's  not  his  own,  ma'am.  She 's  an  orphan, 
bound  to  Darden  and  his  wife,  I  suppose.  There 's 
some  story  or  other  about  her,  but,  not  being  curious 


48  AUDREY 

in  Mr.  Darden's  affairs,  I  have  never  learned  it. 
When  I  came  to  Virginia,  five  years  ago,  she  was  a 
slip  of  a  girl  of  thirteen  or  so.  Once,  when  I  had 
occasion  to  visit  Darden,  she  waylaid  me  in  the  road 
as  I  was  riding  away,  and  asked  me  how  far  it  was  to 
the  mountains,  and  if  there  were  Indians  between 
them  and  us." 

"  Did  she  so  ?  "  asked  Haward.  "  And  which  is  — 
Audrey?" 

"  The  dark  one  —  brown  as  a  gypsy  —  with  the 
dogwood  in  her  hair.  And  mark  me,  there  ?11  be 
Darden's  own  luck  and  she  11  win.  She 's  fleeter  than 
a  greyhound.  I  've  seen  her  running  in  and  out  and 
to  and  fro  in  the  forest  like  a  wild  thing." 

Bare  of  foot  and  slender  ankle,  bare  of  arm  and 
shoulder,  with  heaving  bosom,  shut  lips,  and  steady 
eyes,  each  of  the  six  runners  awaited  the  trumpet 
sound  that  should  send  her  forth  like  an  arrow  to  the 
goal,  and  to  the  shining  guinea  that  lay  thereby.  The 
spectators  ceased  to  talk  and  laugh,  and  bent  for 
ward,  watching.  Wagers  had  been  laid,  and  each 
man  kept  his  eyes  upon  his  favorite,  measuring  her 
chances.  The  trumpet  blew,  and  the  race  was  on. 

When  it  was  over  and  won,  the  May  Queen  rose 
from  her  seat  and  crossed  the  grass  to  her  fine  lady 
guest.  "  There  are  left  only  the  prizes  for  this  and 
for  the  boys'  race  and  for  the  best  dancer.  Will  you 
not  give  them,  Mistress  Evelyn,  and  so  make  them  of 
more  value  ?  " 

More  curtsying,  more  complimenting,  and  the  gold 
was  in  Evelyn's  white  hand.  The  trumpet  blew,  the 
drum  beat,  the  fiddlers  swung  into  a  quick,  staccato 
air,  and  Darden's  Audrey,  leaving  the  post  which  she 
had  touched  some  seconds  in  advance  of  the  foremost 


DARDEN'S  AUDREY  49 

of  those  with  whom  she  had  raced,  came  forward  to 
receive  the  guinea. 

The  straight,  short  skirt  of  dull  blue  linen  could 
not  hide  the  lines  of  the  young  limbs ;  beneath  the 
thin,  white,  sleeveless  bodice  showed  the  tint  of  the 
flesh,  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  bosom.  The  bare  feet 
trod  the  grass  lightly  and  firmly;  the  brown  eyes 
looked  from  under  the  dogwood  chaplet  in  a  gaze  that 
was  serious,  innocent,  and  unashamed.  To  Audrey 
they  were  only  people  out  of  a  fairy  tale,  —  all  those 
gay  folk,  dressed  in  silks  and  with  curled  hair.  They 
lived  in  "  great  houses,"  and  men  and  women  were 
born  to  till  their  fields,  to  row  their  boats,  to  doff 
hats  or  curtsy  as  they  passed.  They  were  not  real ; 
if  you  pricked  them  they  would  not  bleed.  In  the 
mountains  that  she  remembered  as  a  dream  there  were 
pale  masses  of  bloom  far  up  among  the  cliffs ;  very 
beautiful,  but  no  more  to  be  gained  than  the  moon  or 
than  rainbow  gold.  She  looked  at  the  May  party 
before  which  she  had  been  called  much  as,  when  a 
child,  she  had  looked  at  the  gorgeous,  distant  bloom, 
—  not  without  longing,  perhaps,  but  indifferent,  too, 
knowing  that  it  was  beyond  her  reach. 

When  the  gold  piece  was  held  out  to  her,  she  took 
it,  having  earned  it ;  when  the  little  speech  with 
which  the  lady  gave  the  guinea  was  ended,  she  was 
ready  with  her  curtsy  and  her  "  Thank  you,  ma'am." 
The  red  came  into  her  cheeks  because  she  was  not 
used  to  so  many  eyes  upon  her,  but  she  did  not  blush 
for  her  bare  feet,  nor  for  her  dress  that  had  slipped  low 
over  her  shoulder,  nor  for  the  fact  that  she  had  run 
her  swiftest  five  times  around  the  Maypole,  all  for  the 
love  of  a  golden  guinea,  and  for  mere  youth  and  pure- 
minded  ignorance,  and  the  springtime  in  the  pulses. 


50  AUDREY 

The  gold  piece  lay  within  her  brown  fingers  a 
thought  too  lightly,  for  as  she  stepped  back  from  the 
row  of  gentlefolk  it  slid  from  her  hand  to  the  ground. 
A  gentleman,  sitting  beside  the  lady  who  had  spoken 
to  her,  stooped,  and  picking  up  the  money  gave  it 
again  into  her  hand.  Though  she  curtsied  to  him, 
she  did  not  look  at  him,  but  turned  away,  glad  to  be 
quit  of  all  the  eyes,  and  in  a  moment  had  slipped  into 
the  crowd  from  which  she  had  come.  It  was  midday, 
and  old  Israel,  the  fisherman,  who  had  brought  her 
and  the  Widow  Constance's  Barbara  up  the  river  in 
his  boat,  would  be  going  back  with  the  tide.  She 
was  not  loath  to  leave  :  the  green  meadow,  the  gaudy 
Maypole,  and  the  music  were  good,  but  the  silence  on 
the  river,  the  shadow  of  the  brooding  forest,  the  dart 
ing  of  the  fish  hawk,  were  better. 

In  the  meadow  the  boys'  race  and  the  rustic  dance 
were  soon  over.  The  dinner  at  the  Jaquelin  house  to 
its  guests  lasted  longer,  but  it  too  was  hurried ;  for  in 
the  afternoon  Mr.  Harrison's  mare  Nelly  was  to  run 
against  Major  Burwell's  Fearnaught,  and  the  stakes 
were  heavy. 

Not  all  of  the  company  went  from  the  banquet  back 
to  the  meadow,  where  the  humbler  folk,  having  eaten 
their  dinner  of  bread  and  meat  and  ale,  were  whiling 
away  with  sports  of  their  own  the  hour  before  the 
race.  Colonel  Byrd  had  business  at  Williamsburgh, 
and  must  reach  his  lodgings  there  an  hour  before 
sunset.  His  four  black  horses  brought  to  the  door 
the  great  vermilion-and-cream  coach  ;  an  ebony  coach 
man  in  scarlet  cracked  his  whip  at  a  couple  of  negro 
urchins  who  had  kept  pace  with  the  vehicle  as  it  lum 
bered  from  the  stables,  and  a  light  brown  footman 
flung  open  the  door  and  lowered  the  steps.  The 


DARDEN'S  AUDREY  51 

Colonel,  much  regretting  that  occasion  should  call 
him  away,  vowed  that  he  had  never  spent  a  pleasanter 
May  Day,  kissed  the  May  Queen's  hand,  and  was 
prodigal  of  well-turned  compliments,  like  the  gay  and 
gallant  gentleman  that  he  was.  His  daughter  made 
her  graceful  adieux  in  her  clear,  low,  and  singularly 
sweet  voice,  and  together  they  were  swallowed  up  of 
the  mammoth  coach.  Mr.  Haward  took  snuff  with 
Mr.  Jaquelin  ;  then,  mounting  his  horse,  —  it  was 
supposed  that  he  too  had  business  in  Williamsburgh, 
—  raised  his  hat  and  bade  farewell  to  the  company 
with  one  low  and  comprehensive  bow. 

The  equipage  made  a  wide  turn ;  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  upon  the  Jaquelin  porch  fluttered  fans 
and  handkerchiefs;  the  Colonel,  leaning  from  the 
coach  window,  waved  his  hand ;  and  the  horseman 
lifted  his  hat  the  second  time.  The  very  especial 
guests  were  gone ;  and  though  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon  was  as  merry  as  heart  could  wish,  yet  a  bou 
quet,  a  flavor,  a  tang  of  the  Court  and  the  great  world, 
a  breath  of  air  that  was  not  colonial,  had  gone  with 
them.  For  a  moment  the  women  stood  in  a  brown 
study,  revolving  in  their  minds  Mistress  Evelyn's 
gypsy  hat  and  the  exceeding  thinness  and  fineness  of 
her  tucker  ;  while  to  each  of  the  younger  men  came, 
linked  to  the  memory  of  a  charming  face,  a  vision  of 
many-acred  Westover. 

But  the  trumpet  blew,  summoning  them  to  the  sport 
of  the  afternoon,  and  work  stopped  upon  castles  in 
Spain.  When  a  horse-race  was  on,  a  meadow  in  Vir 
ginia  sufficed. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  ROAD  TO   WILLIAMSBURGH 

APRIL  had  gone  out  in  rain,  and  though  the  sun 
now  shone  brightly  from  a  cloudless  sky,  the  streams 
were  swollen  and  the  road  was  heavy.  The  ponderous 
coach  and  the  four  black  horses  made  slow  progress. 
The  creeping  pace,  the  languid  warmth  of  the  after 
noon,  the  scent  of  flowering  trees,  the  ceaseless  sing 
ing  of  redbird,  catbird,  robin,  and  thrush,  made  it 
drowsy  in  the  forest.  In  the  midst  of  an  agreeable 
dissertation  upon  May  Day  sports  of  more  ancient 
times  the  Colonel  paused  to  smother  a  yawn;  and 
when  he  had  done  with  the  clown,  the  piper,  and  the 
hobby-horse,  he  yawned  again,  this  time  outright. 

"  What  with  Lud well's  Burgundy,  piquet,  and  the 
French  peace,  we  sat  late  last  night.  My  eyes  are  as 
heavy  as  the  road.  Have  you  noticed,  my  dear,  how 
bland  and  dreamy  is  the  air  ?  On  such  an  afternoon 
one  is  content  to  be  in  Virginia,  and  out  of  the  world. 
It  is  a  very  land  of  the  Lotophagi,  — >  a  lazy  clime  that 
Ulysses  touched  at,  my  love." 

The  equipage  slowly  climbed  an  easy  ascent,  and  as 
slowly  descended  to  the  level  again.  The  road  was 
narrow,  and  now  and  then  a  wild  cherry-tree  struck 
the  coach  with  a  white  arm,  or  a  grapevine  swung 
through  the  window  a  fragrant  trailer.  The  woods  on 
either  hand  were  pale  green  and  silver  gray,  save 


THE  ROAD  TO  WILLIAMSBURGH  53 

where  they  were  starred  with  dogwood,  or  where  rose 
the  pink  mist  of  the  Judas-tree.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill  the  road  skirted  a  mantled  pond,  choked  with 
broad  green  leaves  and  the  half -submerged  trunks  of 
fallen  trees.  Upon  these  logs,  basking  in  the  sunlight, 
lay  small  tortoises  by  the  score.  A  snake  glided  across 
the  road  in  front  of  the  horses,  and  from  a  bit  of 
muddy  ground  rose  a  cloud  of  yellow  butterflies. 

The  Colonel  yawned  for  the  third  time,  looked  at 
his  watch,  sighed,  lifted  his  finely  arched  brows  with 
a  whimsical  smile  for  his  own  somnolence  ;  then,  with 
an  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  love,"  took  out  a  lace 
handkerchief,  spread  it  over  his  face  and  head,  and, 
crossing  his  legs,  sunk  back  into  the  capacious  corner 
of  the  coach.  In  three  minutes  the  placid  rise  and 
fall  of  his  ruffles  bore  witness  that  he  slept. 

The  horseman,  who,  riding  beside  the  lowered  glass, 
had  at  intervals  conversed  with  the  occupants  of  the 
coach,  now  glanced  from  the  sleeping  gentleman  to 
the  lady,  in  whose  dark,  almond-shaped  eyes  Jurked  no 
sign  of  drowsiness.  The  pond  had  been  passed,  and 
before  them,  between  low  banks  crowned  with  ferns 
and  overshadowed  by  beech-trees,  lay  a  long  stretch 
of  shady  road. 

Haward  drew  rein,  dismounted,  and  motioned  to 
the  coachman  to  check  the  horses.  When  the  coach 
had  come  to  a  standstill,  he  opened  the  door  with  as 
little  creaking  as  might  be,  and  held  out  a  petitionary 
hand.  "  Will  you  not  walk  with  me  a  little  way, 
Evelyn  ?  "  he  asked,  speaking  in  a  low  voice  that  he 
might  not  wake  the  sleeper.  "  It  is  much  pleasanter 
out  here,  with  the  birds  and  the  flowers." 

His  eyes  and  the  smile  upon  his  lips  added,  "  and 
with  me."  From  what  he  had  been  upon  a  hilltop, 


54  AUDREY 

one  moonlight  night  eleven  years  before,  he  had  be 
come  a  somewhat  silent,  handsome  gentleman,  com 
posed  in  manner,  experienced,  not  unkindly,  looking 
abroad  from  his  apportioned  mountain  crag  and  soli 
tary  fortress  upon  men,  and  the  busy  ways  of  men, 
with  a  tolerant  gaze.  That  to  certain  of  his  London 
acquaintance  he  was  simply  the  well-bred  philosopher 
and  man  of  letters;  that  in  the  minds  of  others  he 
was  associated  with  the  peacock  plumage  of  the  world 
of  fashion,  with  the  flare  of  candles,  the  hot  breath  of 
gamesters,  the  ring  of  gold  upon  the  tables ;  that  one 
clique  had  tales  to  tell  of  a  magnanimous  spirit  and  a 
generous  hand,  while  yet  another  grew  red  at  men 
tion  of  his  name,  and  put  to  his  credit  much  that  was 
not  creditable,  was  perhaps  not  strange.  He,  like  his 
neighbors,  had  many  selves,  and  each  in  its  turn  — 
the  scholar,  the  man  of  pleasure,  the  indolent,  kindly, 
reflective  self,  the  self  of  pride  and  cool  assurance  and 
stubborn  will  —  took  its  place  behind  the  mask,  and 
went  through  its  allotted  part.  His  self  of  all  selves, 
the  quiet,  remote,  crowned,  and  inscrutable  /,  sat 
apart,  alike  curious  and  indifferent,  watched  the 
others,  and  knew  how  little  worth  the  while  was  the 
stir  in  the  ant-hill. 

But  on  a  May  Day,  in  the  sunshine  and  the  blos 
soming  woods  and  the  company  of  Mistress  Evelyn 
Byrd,  it  seemed,  for  the  moment,  worth  the  while. 
At  his  invitation  she  had  taken  his  hand  and  descended 
from  the  coach.  The  great,  painted  thing  moved 
slowly  forward,  bearing  the  unconscious  Colonel,  and 
the  two  pedestrians  walked  behind  it :  he  with  his 
horse's  reins  over  his  arm  and  his  hat  in  his  hand ; 
she  lifting  her  silken  skirts  from  contact  with  the 
ground,  and  looking,  not  at  her  companion,  but  at  the 


THE  ROAD  TO  WILLIAMSBURGH  55 

greening  boughs,  and  at  the  sunlight  striking  upon 
smooth,  pale  beech  trunks  and  the  leaf-strewn  earth 
beneath.  Out  of  the  woods  came  a  sudden  medley  of 
bird  notes,  clear,  sweet,  and  inexpressibly  joyous. 

"  That  is  a  mockingbird,"  said  Haward.  "  I  once 
heard  one  of  a  moonlight  night,  beside  a  still  water  "  — 

He  broke  off,  and  they  listened  in  silence.  The 
bird  flew  away,  and  they  came  to  a  brook  traversing 
the  road,  and  flowing  in  wide  meanders  through  the 
forest.  There  were  stepping-stones,  and  Haward, 
crossing  first,  turned  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
lady.  When  she  was  upon  his  side  of  the  streamlet, 
and  before  he  released  the  slender  fingers,  he  bent 
and  kissed  them;  then,  as  there  was  no  answering 
smile  or  blush,  but  only  a  quiet  withdrawal  of  the 
hand  and  a  remark  about  the  crystal  clearness  of  the 
brook,  looked  at  her,  with  interrogation  in  his  smile. 

"  What  is  that  crested  bird  upon  yonder  bough," 
she  asked,  —  "  the  one  that  gave  the  piercing  cry  ?  " 

"  A  kingfisher,"  he  answered,  "  and  cousin  to  the 
halcyon  of  the  ancients.  If,  when  next  you  go  to  sea, 
you  take  its  feathers  with  you,  you  need  have  no  fear 
of  storms." 

A  tree,  leafless,  but  purplish  pink  with  bloom, 
leaned  from  the  bank  above  them.  He  broke  a  branch 
and  gave  it  to  her.  "  It  is  the  Judas-tree,"  he  told 
her.  "  Iscariot  hanged  himself  thereon." 

Around  the  trunk  of  a  beech  a  lizard  ran  like  a 
green  flame,  and  they  heard  the  distant  barking  of 
a  fox.  Large  white  butterflies  went  past  them,  and  a 
hummingbird  whirred  into  the  heart  of  a  wild  honey 
suckle  that  had  hasted  to  bloom.  "  How  different 
from  the  English  forests !  "  she  said.  "  I  could  love 
these  best.  What  are  all  those  broad-leaved  plants 
with  the  white,  waxen  flowers  ?  " 


56  AUDREY 

"May-apples.  Some  call  them  mandrakes,  but 
they  do  not  rise  shrieking,  nor  kill  the  wight  that 
plucks  them.  Will  you  have  me  gather  them  for 
you?" 

"I  will  not  trouble  you,"  she  answered,  and  pre 
sently  turned  aside  to  pull  them  for  herself. 

He  looked  at  the  graceful,  bending  figure  and  lifted 
his  brows ;  then,  quickening  his  pace  until  he  was  up 
with  the  coach,  he  spoke  to  the  negro  upon  the  box. 
"  Tyre,  drive  on  to  that  big  pine,  and  wait  there  for 
your  mistress  and  me.  Sidon,"  —  to  the  footman,  — 
"  get  down  and  take  my  horse.  If  your  master  wakes, 
tell  him  that  Mistress  Evelyn  tired  of  the  coach,  and 
that  I  am  picking  her  a  nosegay." 

Tyre  and  Sidon,  Haward's  steed,  the  four  black 
coach  horses,  the  vermilion-and-cream  coach,  and  the 
slumbering  Colonel,  all  made  a  progress  of  an  hun 
dred  yards  to  the  pine-tree,  where  the  cortege  came  to 
a  halt.  Mistress  Evelyn  looked  up  from  the  flower- 
gathering  to  find  the  road  bare  before  her,  and  Ha  ward, 
sitting  upon  a  log,  watching  her  with  something  be 
tween  a  smile  and  a  frown. 

"You  think  that  I,  also,  weigh  true  love  by  the 
weight  of  the  purse,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  care  over 
much  for  your  gold,  Evelyn." 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  stood  with  her 
head  slightly  bent,  fingering  the  waxen  flowers  with  a 
delicate,  lingering  touch.  Now  that  there  was  no 
longer  the  noise  of  the  wheels  and  the  horses'  hoofs, 
the  forest  stillness,  which  is  composed  of  sound,  made 
itself  felt.  The  call  of  birds,  the  whir  of  insects,  the 
murmur  of  the  wind  in  the  treetops,  low,  grave,  inces 
sant,  and  eternal  as  the  sound  of  the  sea,  joined  them 
selves  to  the  slow  waves  of  fragrance,  the  stretch  of 


THE  ROAD  TO  WILLIAMSBURGH  57 

road  whereon  nothing  moved,  the  sunlight  lying  on 
the  earth,  and  made  a  spacious  quiet. 

"  I  think  that  there  is  nothing  for  which  you  care 
overmuch,"  she  said  at  last,  "Not  for  gold  or  the 
lack  of  it,  not  for  friends  or  for  enemies,  not  even  for 
yourself." 

"  I  have  known  you  for  many  years,"  he  answered. 
"  I  have  watched  you  grow  from  a  child  into  a  gracious 
and  beautiful  woman.  Do  you  not  think  that  I  care 
for  you,  Evelyn?" 

Near  where  he  sat  so  many  violets  were  blooming 
that  they  made  a  purple  carpet  for  the  ground.  Go 
ing  over  to  them,  she  knelt  and  began  to  pluck  them. 
"If  any  danger  threatened  me,"  she  began,  in  her 
clear,  low  voice,  "  I  believe  that  you  would  step  be 
tween  me  and  it,  though  at  the  peril  of  your  life.  I 
believe  that  you  take  some  pleasure  in  what  you  are 
pleased  to  style  my  beauty,  some  pride  in  a  mind  that 
you  have  largely  formed.  If  I  died  early,  it  would 
grieve  you  for  a  little  while.  I  call  you  my  friend." 

"  I  would  be  called  your  lover,"  he  said. 

She  laid  her  fan  upon  the  ground,  heaped  it  with 
violets,  and  turned  again  to  her  reaping.  "How 
might  that  be,"  she  asked,  "  when  you  do  not  love  me  ? 
I  know  that  you  would  marry  me.  What  do  the 
French  call  it,  —  mariage  de  convenance  f  " 

Her  voice  was  even,  and  her  head  was  bent  so  that 
he  could  not  see  her  face.  In  the  pause  that  followed 
her  words  treetop  whispered  to  treetop,  but  the  sun 
shine  lay  very  still  and  bright  upon  the  road  and 
upon  the  flowers  by  the  wayside. 

"  There  are  worse  marriages,"  Haward  said  at  last. 
Rising  from  the  log,  he  moved  to  the  side  of  the 
kneeling  figure.  "  Let  the  violets  rest,  Evelyn,  while 


58  AUDREY 

we  reason  together.  You  are  too  clear-eyed.  Since 
they  offend  you,  I  will  drop  the  idle  compliments,  the 
pretty  phrases,  in  which  neither  of  us  believes.  What 
if  this  tinted  dream  of  love  does  not  exist  for  us? 
What  if  we  are  only  friends  —  dear  and  old  friends  "  — 

He  stooped,  and,  taking  her  by  the  busy  hands, 
made  her  stand  up  beside  him.  "  Cannot  we  marry 
and  still  be  friends  ? "  he  demanded,  with  something 
like  laughter  in  his  eyes.  "  My  dear,  I  would  strive 
to  make  you  happy ;  and  happiness  is  as  often  found 
in  that  temperate  land  where  we  would  dwell  as  in 
Love's  flaming  climate."  He  smiled  and  tried  to  find 
her  eyes,  downcast  and  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  her 
hat.  "  This  is  no  flowery  wooing  such  as  women  love," 
he  said ;  "  but  then  you  are  like  no  other  woman. 
Always  the  truth  was  best  with  you." 

Upon  her  wrenching  her  hands  from  his,  and  sud 
denly  and  proudly  raising  her  head,  he  was  amazed  to 
find  her  white  to  the  lips. 

"  The  truth  !  "  she  said  slowly.  "  Always  the  truth 
was  best !  Well,  then,  take  the  truth,  and  afterwards 
and  forever  and  ever  leave  me  alone  !  You  have  been 
frank ;  why  should  not  I,  who,  you  say,  am  like  no 
other  woman,  be  so,  too  ?  I  will  not  marry  you,  be 
cause —  because" —  The  crimson  flowed  over  her 
face  and  neck ;  then  ebbed,  leaving  her  whiter  than 
before.  She  put  her  hands,  that  still  held  the  wild 
flowers,  to  her  breast,  and  her  eyes,  dark  with  pain, 
met  his.  "  Had  you  loved  me,"  she  said  proudly  and 
quietly,  "  I  had  been  happy." 

Haward  stepped  backwards  until  there  lay  between 
them  a  strip  of  sunny  earth.  The  murmur  of  the 
wind  went  on  and  the  birds  were  singing,  and  yet  the 
forest  seemed  more  quiet  than  death.  "  I  could  not 


"HAD  YOU  LOVED  ME  — I  HAD  BEEN  HAPPY 


THE  ROAD  TO  WILLIAMSBUKGH  59 

guess,"  he  said,  speaking  slowly  and  with  his  eyes 
upon  the  ground.  "  I  have  spoken  like  a  brute.  I 
beg  your  pardon." 

"  You  might  have  known !  you  might  have  guessed ! " 
she  cried,  with  passion.  "  But  you  walk  an  even  way  ; 
you  choose  nor  high  nor  low  :  you  look  deep  into 
your  mind,  but  your  heart  you  keep  cool  and  vacant. 
Oh,  a  very  temperate  land  !  I  think  that  others  less 
wise  than  you  may  also  be  less  blind.  Never  speak 
to  me  of  this  day !  Let  it  die  as  these  blooms  are 
dying  in  this  hot  sunshine  !  Now  let  us  walk  to  the 
coach  and  waken  my  father.  I  have  gathered  flowers 
enough." 

Side  by  side,  but  without  speaking,  they  moved 
from  shadow  to  sunlight,  and  from  sunlight  to  shadow, 
down  the  road  to  the  great  pine-tree.  The  white  and 
purple  flowers  lay  in  her  hand  and  along  her  bended 
arm  ;  from  the  folds  of  her  dress,  of  some  rich  and 
silken  stuff,  chameleon-like  in  its  changing  colors, 
breathed  the  subtle  fragrance  of  the  perfume  then 
most  in  fashion  ;  over  the  thin  lawn  that  half  re 
vealed,  half  concealed  neck  and  bosom  was  drawn  a 
long  and  glossy  curl,  carefully  let  to  escape  from  the 
waved  and  banded  hair  beneath  the  gypsy  hat.  Ex 
quisite  from  head  to  foot,  the  figure  had  no  place  in 
the  unpruned,  untrained,  savage,  and  primeval  beauty 
of  those  woods.  Smooth  sward,  with  jets  of  water 
and  carven  nymphs  embowered  in  clipped  box  or  yew, 
should  have  been  its  setting,  and  not  this  wild  and 
tangled  growth,  this  license  of  bird  and  beast  and 
growing  things.  And  yet  the  incongruous  riot,  the  con 
trast  of  profuse,  untended  beauty,  enhanced  the  value 
of  the  picture,  gave  it  piquancy  and  a  completer 
charm. 


60  AUDREY 

When  they  were  within  a  few  feet  of  the  coach  and 
horses  and  negroes,  all  drowsing  in  the  sunny  road, 
Haward  made  as  if  to  speak,  but  she  stopped  him 
with  her  lifted  hand,  "  Spare  me,"  she  begged.  "  It 
is  bad  enough  as  it  is,  but  words  would  make  it  worse. 
If  ever  a  day  might  come  —  I  do  not  think  that  I 
am  unlovely ;  I  even  rate  myself  so  highly  as  to  think 
that  I  am  worthy  of  your  love.  If  ever  the  day  shall 
come  when  you  can  say  to  me,  4  Now  I  see  that  love 
is  no  tinted  dream  ;  now  I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  in 
deed,'  then,  upon  that  day  —  But  until  then  ask  not 
of  me  what  you  asked  back  there  among  the  violets. 
I,  too,  am  proud  "  —  Her  voice  broke. 

"Evelyn!"  he  cried.  "Poor  child  — poor 
friend  "  — 

She  turned  her  face  upon  him.  "  Don't !  "  she  said, 
and  her  lips  were  smiling,  though  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears.  "  We  have  forgot  that  it  is  May  Day,  and 
that  we  must  be  light  of  heart.  Look  how  white  is 
that  dogwood-tree !  Break  me  a  bough  for  my  chim 
ney-piece  at  Williamsburgh." 

He  brought  her  a  branch  of  the  starry  blossoms. 
"Did  you  notice,"  she  asked,  "  that  the  girl  who  ran  — 
Audrey  —  wore  dogwood  in  her  hair  ?  You  could  see 
her  heart  beat  with  very  love  of  living.  She  was  of 
the  woods,  like  a  dryad.  Had  the  prizes  been  of  my 
choosing,  she  should  have  had  a  gift  more  poetical 
than  a  guinea." 

Haward  opened  the  coach  door,  and  stood  gravely 
aside  while  she  entered  the  vehicle  and  took  her  seat, 
depositing  her  flowers  upon  the  cushions  beside  her. 
The  Colonel  stirred,  uncrossed  his  legs,  yawned,  pulled 
the  handkerchief  from  his  face,  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Faith  !  "  he  exclaimed,  straightening  himself,  and 


THE  ROAD  TO  WILLIAMSBURGH  61 

taking  up  his  radiant  humor  where,  upon  falling- 
asleep,  he  had  let  it  drop.  "  The  way  must  have  sud 
denly  become  smooth  as  a  road  in  Venice,  for  I  've 
felt  no  jolting  this  half  hour.  Flowers,  Evelyn  ?  and 
Haward  afoot  ?  You  've  been  on  a  woodland  saunter, 
then,  while  I  enacted  Solomon's  sluggard!"  The 
worthy  parent's  eyes  began  to  twinkle.  "  What 
flowers  did  you  find  ?  They  have  strange  blooms 
here,  and  yet  I  warrant  that  even  in  these  woods  one 
might  come  across  London  pride  and  none-so-pretty 
and  forget-me-not "  — 

His  daughter  smiled,  and  asked  him  some  idle  ques 
tion  about  the  May-apple  and  the  Judas-tree.  The 
master  of  Westover  was  a  treasure  house  of  sprightly 
lore.  Within  ten  minutes  he  had  visited  Palestine, 
paid  his  compliments  to  the  ancient  herbalists,  and 
landed  again  in  his  own  coach,  to  find  in  his  late  audi 
ence  a  somewhat  distraite  daughter  and  a  friend  in  a 
brown  study.  The  coach  was  lumbering  on  toward 
William sburgh,  and  Haward,  with  level  gaze  and  hand 
closed  tightly  upon  his  horse's  reins,  rode  by  the  win 
dow,  while  the  lady,  sitting  in  her  corner  with  down 
cast  eyes,  fingered  the  dogwood  blooms  that  were  not 
paler  than  her  face. 

The  Colonel's  wits  were  keen.  One  glance,  a  lift 
of  his  arched  brows,  the  merest  ghost  of  a  smile,  and, 
dragging  the  younger  man  with  him,  he  plunged  into 
politics.  Invective  against  a  refractory  House  of 
Burgesses  brought  them  a  quarter  of  a  mile  upon  their 
way;  the  necessity  for  an  act  to  encourage  adven 
turers  in  iron  works  carried  them  past  a  milldam ; 
and  frauds  in  the  customs  enabled  them  to  reach  a 
crossroads  ordinary,  where  the  Colonel  ordered  a  halt, 
and  called  for  a  tankard  of  ale.  A  slipshod,  blue- 


62  AUDREY 

eyed  Cherry  brought  it,  and  spoke  her  thanks  in  broad 
Scotch  for  the  shilling  which  the  gay  Colonel  flung 
tinkling  into  the  measure. 

That  versatile  and  considerate  gentleman,  having 
had  his  draught,  cried  to  the  coachman  to  go  on,  and 
was  beginning  upon  the  question  of  the  militia,  when 
Haward,  who  had  dismounted,  appeared  at  the  coach 
door.  "  I  do  not  think  that  I  will  go  on  to  Williams- 
burgh  with  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "  There  's  some  trouble 
some  business  with  my  overseer  that  ought  not  to  wait. 
If  I  take  this  road  and  the  planter's  pace,  I  shall 
reach  Fair  View  by  sunset.  You  do  not  return  to 
Westover  this  week  ?  Then  I  shall  see  you  at  Wil- 
liamsburgli  within  a  day  or  two.  Evelyn,  good-day." 

Her  hand  lay  upon  the  cushion  nearest  him,  He 
would  have  taken  it  in  his  own,  as  for  years  he  had 
done  when  he  bade  her  good-by;  but  though  she 
smiled  and  gave  him  "  Good- day  "  in  her  usual  voice, 
she  drew  the  hand  away.  The  Colonel's  eyebrows 
went  up  another  fraction  of  an  inch,  but  he  was  a  dis 
creet  gentleman  who  had  bought  experience.  Skill 
fully  unobservant,  his  parting  words  were  at  once 
cordial  and  few  in  number;  and  after  Haward  had 
mounted  and  had  turned  into  the  side  road,  he  put  his 
handsome,  periwigged  head  out  of  the  coach  window 
and  called  to  him  some  advice  about  the  transplant 
ing  of  tobacco.  This  done,  and  the  horseman  out  of 
sight,  and  the  coach  once  more  upon  its  leisurely  way 
to  Williamsburgh,  the  model  father  pulled  out  of  his 
pocket  a  small  book,  and,  after  affectionately  advising 
his  daughter  to  close  her  eyes  and  sleep  out  the  miles 
to  Williamsburgh,  himself  retired  with  Horace  to  the 
Sabine  farm. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   STOREKEEPER 

IT  was  now  late  afternoon,  the  sun's  rays  coming 
slantingly  into  the  forest,  and  the  warmth  of  the  day 
past  and  gone.  To  Haward,  riding  at  a  gallop 
down  the  road  that  was  scarce  more  than  a  bridle 
path,  the  rush  of  the  cool  air  was  grateful ;  the  sharp 
striking  of  protruding  twigs,  the  violent  brushing  aside 
of  hanging  vines,  not  unwelcome. 

It  was  of  the  man  that  the  uppermost  feeling  in  his 
mind  was  one  of  disgust  at  his  late  infelicity  of  speech, 
and  at  the  blindness  which  had  prompted  it.  That  he 
had  not  divined,  that  he  had  been  so  dull  as  to  assume 
that  as  he  felt,  or  did  not  feel,  so  must  she,  annoyed 
him  like  the  jar  of  rude  noises  or  like  sand  blowing 
into  face  and  eyes.  It  was  of  him,  too,  that  the  annoy 
ance  was  purely  with  himself ;  for  her,  when  at  last 
he  came  to  think  of  her,  he  found  only  the  old,  placid 
affection,  as  far  removed  from  love  as  from  hate.  If 
he  knew  himself,  it  would  always  be  as  far  removed 
from  love  as  from  hate. 

All  the  days  of  her  youth  he  had  come  and  gone,  a 
welcome  guest  at  her  father's  house  in  London.  He 
had  grown  to  be  her  friend,  watching  the  crescent 
beauty  of  face  and  mind  with  something  of  the  pride 
and  tenderness  which  a  man  might  feel  for  a  young 
and  favorite  sister  ;  and  then,  at  last,  when  some  turn 


64  AUDREY 

of  affairs  sent  them  all  home  to  Virginia  to  take  lot 
and  part  there,  he  had  thought  of  marriage. 

His  mind  had  turned,  not  unwillingly,  from  the 
town  and  its  apples  of  Sodom  to  his  Virginia  planta 
tion  that  he  had  not  seen  for  more  than  ten  years.  It 
was  his  birthplace,  and  there  he  had  spent  his  boy 
hood.  Sometimes,  in  heated  rooms,  when  the  candles 
in  the  sconces  were  guttering  down,  and  the  dawn 
looked  palely  in  upon  gaming  tables  and  heaped  gold, 
and  seamed  faces,  haggardly  triumphant,  haggardly 
despairing,  determinedly  indifferent,  there  had  come 
to  him  visions  of  cool  dawns  upon  the  river,  wide, 
misty  expanses  of  marsh  and  forest,  indistinct  and 
cold  and  pure.  The  lonely  "  great  house,"  too,  —  the 
house  which  his  father  had  built  with  so  much  love 
and  pains,  that  his  son  and  his  son's  sons  should  have 
a  worthy  home,  —  appealed  to  him,  and  the  garden, 
and  the  fishing-boats,  and  the  old  slaves  in  the  quar 
ters.  He  told  himself  that  he  was  glad  to  go  back. 

Had  men  called  him  ambitious,  he  would  have 
smiled,  and  felt  truly  that  they  had  bungled  in  the 
word.  Such  and  such  things  were  simply  his  appur 
tenances  ;  in  London,  the  regard  due  to  a  gentleman 
who  to  a  certain  distinction  in  his  manner  of  amusing 
himself  added  the  achievement  of  a  successful  comedy, 
three  lampoons  quoted  at  all  London  tea-tables,  and  a 
piece  of  Whig  invective,  so  able,  stern,  and  sustained 
that  many  cried  that  the  Dean  had  met  his  match  ;  in 
Virginia,  the  deferential  esteem  of  the  colony  at  large, 
a  place  in  the  Council,  and  a  great  estate.  An  alli 
ance  with  the  master  of  Westover  was  in  itself  a 
desirable  thing,  advantageous  to  purse  and  to  credit ; 
his  house  must  have  a  mistress,  and  that  mistress  must 
please  at  every  point  his  fastidious  taste. 


THE  STOREKEEPER  65 

What  better  to  do  than  to  give  it  for  Mistress  Eve 
lyn  Byrd  ?  Evelyn,  who  had  had  for  all  her  suitors 
only  a  slow  smile  and  shake  of  the  head ;  Evelyn,  who 
was  older  than  her  years ;  Evelyn,  who  was  his  friend 
as  he  was  hers.  Love  !  He  had  left  that  land  be 
hind,  and  she  had  never  touched  its  shores ;  the  geo 
graphy  of  the  poets  to  the  contrary,  it  did  not  lie  in 
the  course  of  all  who  passed  through  life.  He  made 
his  suit,  and  now  he  had  his  answer. 

If  he  did  not  take  trouble  to  wonder  at  her  con 
fession,  or  to  modestly  ask  himself  how  he  had  deserved 
her  love,  neither  did  he  insult  her  with  pity  or  with 
any  lightness  of  thought.  Nor  was  he  ready  to  believe 
that  his  rejection  was  final.  Apparently  indifferent 
as  he  was,  it  was  yet  his  way  to  move  steadily  and 
relentlessly,  if  very  quietly,  toward  what  goal  he  de 
sired  to  reach.  He  thought  that  Fair  View  might  yet 
call  Evelyn  Byrd  its  mistress. 

Since  turning  into  the  crossroad  that,  running  south 
and  east,  would  take  him  back  to  the  banks  of  the 
James  and  to  his  own  house,  he  had  not  slackened 
speed,  but  now,  as  he  saw  through  the  trees  before 
him  a  long  zigzag  of  rail  fence,  he  drew  rein.  The 
road  turned,  and  a  gate  barred  his  way.  When  he 
had  opened  it  and  passed  through,  he  was  upon  his 
own  land. 

He  had  ridden  off  his  irritation,  and  could  now 
calmly  tell  himself  that  the  blunder  was  made  and 
over  with,  and  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  philosopher 
to  remember  it  only  in  so  far  as  it  must  shape  his 
future  course.  His  house  of  cards  had  toppled  over ; 
but  the  profound  indifferentism  of  his  nature  enabled 
him  to  view  the  ruins  with  composure.  After  a  while 
he  would  build  the  house  again.  The  image  of  Evelyn, 


66  AUDREY 

as  she  had  stood,  dark-eyed  and  pale,  with  the  flowers 
pressed  to  her  bosom,  he  put  from  him.  He  knew 
her  strength  of  soul ;  and  with  the  curious  hardness 
of  the  strong  toward  the  strong,  and  also  not  without 
the  delicacy  which,  upon  occasion,  he  could  both  feel 
and  exhibit,  he  shut  the  door  upon  that  hour  in  the 
forest. 

He  had  left  the  woods,  and  was  now  riding  through 
a  field  of  newly  planted  tobacco.  It  and  the  tobacco 
house  in  the  midst  of  it  were  silent,  deserted,  bathed 
in  the  late  sunshine.  The  ground  rose  slightly,  and 
when  he  had  mounted  with  it  he  saw  below  him  the 
huddle  of  cabins  which  formed  the  ridge  quarter,  and 
winding  down  to  it  a  string  of  negroes.  One  turned 
his  head,  and  saw  the  solitary  horseman  upon  the 
summit  of  the  slope  behind  him  ;  another  looked,  and 
another,  until  each  man  in  line  had  his  head  over  his 
shoulder.  They  knew  that  the  horseman  was  their 
master.  Some  had  been  upon  the  plantation  when  he 
was  a  boy  ;  others  were  more  recent  acquisitions  who 
knew  not  his  face ;  but  alike  they  grinned  and  ducked. 
The  white  man  walking  beside  the  line  took  off  his 
hat  and  pulled  a  forelock.  Haward  raised  his  hand 
that  they  might  know  he  saw,  and  rode  on. 

Another  piece  of  woods  where  a  great  number  of 
felled  trees  cumbered  the  ground,  more  tobacco,  and 
then,  in  worn  fields  where  the  tobacco  had  been,  knee- 
deep  wheat  rippling  in  the  evening  breeze.  The  wheat 
ran  down  to  a  marsh,  and  to  a  wide,  slow  creek  that, 
save  in  the  shadow  of  its  reedy  banks,  was  blue  as  the 
sky  above.  Haward,  riding  slowly  beside  his  green 
fields  and  still  waters,  noted  with  quiet,  half-regretful 
pleasure  this  or  that  remembered  feature  of  the  land 
scape.  There  had  been  little  change.  Here,  where 


THE  STOREKEEPER  67 

he  remembered  deep  woods,  tobacco  was  planted; 
there,  where  the  tobacco  had  been,  were  now  fields  of 
wheat  or  corn,  or  wild  tangles  of  vine-rid  saplings  and 
brushwood  :  but  for  this  it  might  have  been  yesterday 
that  he  had  last  ridden  that  way. 

Presently  he  saw  the  river,  and  then  the  marshes 
with  brown  dots  that  were  his  cattle  straying  over 
them,  and  beyond  these  the  home  landing  and  the 
masts  of  the  Golden  Rose.  The  sun  was  near  its 
setting ;  the  men  had  left  the  fields ;  over  all  things 
were  the  stillness  and  peace,  the  encroaching  shadows, 
the  dwindling  light,  so  golden  in  its  quality,  of  late 
afternoon.  When  he  crossed  the  bridge  over  the 
creek,  the  hollow  sound  that  the  boards  gave  forth 
beneath  his  horse's  hoofs  had  the  depth  and  resonance 
of  drumbeats,  and  the  cry  of  a  solitary  heron  in  the 
marsh  seemed  louder  than  its  wont.  He  passed  the 
rolling-house  and  drew  near  to  the  river,  riding  again 
through  tobacco.  These  plants  were  Oronoko ;  the 
mild  sweet-scented  took  the  higher  ground.  Along 
the  river  bank  grew  a  row  of  tall  and  stately  trees : 
passing  beneath  them,  he  saw  the  shining  water  be 
tween  brown  columns  or  through  a  veil  of  slight, 
unfolding  leaves.  Soon  the  trees  fell  away,  and  he 
came  to  a  stretch  of  bank,  —  here  naked  earth,  there 
clad  in  grass  and  dewberry  vines.  Near  by  was  a 
small  landing,  with  several  boats  fastened  to  its  piles ; 
and  at  a  little  distance  beyond  it,  shadowed  by  a 
locust-tree,  a  strongly  built,  two-roomed  wooden  house, 
with  the  earth  around  it  trodden  hard  and  bare, 
and  with  two  or  three  benches  before  its  open  door. 
Haward  recognized  the  store  which  his  father  — 
after  the  manner  of  his  kind,  merchant,  and  trader  as 
well  as  planter  and  maker  of  laws  —  had  built,  and 


68  AUDREY 

which,  through  his  agent  in  Virginia,  he  had  main 
tained. 

Before  one  of  the  benches  a  man  was  kneeling  with 
his  back  to  Haward,  who  could  only  see  that  his  garb 
was  that  of  a  servant,  and  that  his  hands  were  busily 
moving  certain  small  objects  this  way  and  that  upon 
the  board.  At  the  edge  of  the  space  of  bare  earth 
were  a  horse-block  and  a  hitching-post.  Haward  rode 
up  to  them,  dismounted,  and  fastened  his  horse,  then 
walked  over  to  the  man  at  the  bench. 

So  intent  was  the  latter  upon  his  employment  that 
he  heard  neither  horse  nor  rider.  He  had  some  shells, 
a  few  bits  of  turf,  and  a  double  handful  of  sand,  and 
he  was  arranging  these  trifles  upon  the  rough,  un- 
painted  boards  in  a  curious  and  intricate  pattern.  He 
was  a  tall  man,  with  hair  that  was  more  red  than 
brown,  and  he  was  dressed  in  a  shirt  of  dowlas, 
leather  breeches,  and  coarse  plantation-made  shoes 
and  stockings. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ? "  asked  Haward,  after  a 
moment's  silent  watching  of  the  busy  fingers  and  in 
tent  countenance. 

There  was  no  start  of  awakened  consciousness  upon 
the  other's  part.  "  Why,"  he  said,  as  if  he  had  asked 
the  question  of  himself,  "  with  this  sand  I  have  traced 
the  shores  of  Loch-na-Keal.  This  turf  is  green  Ulva, 
and  this  is  Gometra,  and  the  shell  is  Little  Colonsay. 
With  this  wet  sand  I  have  moulded  Ben  Grieg,  and 
this  higher  pile  is  Ben  More.  If  I  had  but  a  sprig  of 
heather,  now,  or  a  pebble  from  the  shore  of  Scri- 
dain!" 

The  voice,  while  harsh,  was  not  disagreeably  so, 
and  neither  the  words  nor  the  manner  of  using  them 
smacked  of  the  rustic. 


THE  STOREKEEPER  69 

"  And  where  are  Loch-na-Keal  and  Ulva  and  Scri- 
dain  ?  "  demanded  Haward.  "  Somewhere  in  North 
Britain,  I  presume  ?  " 

The  second  question  broke  the  spell.  The  man 
glanced  over  his  shoulder,  saw  that  he  was  not  alone, 
and  with  one  sweep  of  his  hand  blotting  loch  and 
island  and  mountain  out  of  existence,  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  opposed  to  Haward's  gaze  a  tall,  muscular  frame, 
high  features  slightly  pockmarked,  and  keen  dark 
blue  eyes. 

"  I  was  dreaming,  and  did  not  hear  you,"  he  said, 
civilly  enough.  "  It 's  not  often  that  any  one  comes 
to  the  store  at  this  time  of  day.  What  d'  ye  lack  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  he  moved  toward  the  doorway,  through 
which  showed  shelves  and  tables  piled  with  the  ex 
traordinary  variety  of  goods  which  were  deemed  es 
sential  to  the  colonial  trade.  "  Are  you  the  store 
keeper?"  asked  Haward,  keeping  pace  with  the 
other's  long  stride. 

44  It 's  the  name  they  call  me  by,"  answered  the 
man  curtly  ;  then,  as  he  chanced  to  turn  his  eyes  upon 
the  landing,  his  tone  changed,  and  a  smile  irradiated 
his  countenance.  "  Here  comes  a  customer,"  he  re 
marked,  "  that  '11  make  you  bide  your  turn." 

A  boat,  rowed  by  a  young  boy  and  carrying  a 
woman,  had  slipped  out  of  the  creek,  and  along  the 
river  bank  to  the  steps  of  the  landing.  When  they 
were  reached,  the  boy  sat  still,  the  oars  resting  across 
his  knees,  and  his  face  upturned  to  a  palace  beautiful 
of  pearl  and  saffron  cloud ;  but  the  woman  mounted 
the  steps,  and,  crossing  the  boards,  came  up  to  the 
door  and  the  men  beside  it.  Her  dress  was  gray  and 
unadorned,  and  she  was  young  and  of  a  quiet  loveli 
ness. 


70  AUDREY 

"  Mistress  Truelove  Taberer,"  said  the  storekeeper, 
"  what  can  you  choose,  this  May  Day,  that 's  so  fair 
as  yourself  ?  " 

A  pair  of  gray  eyes  were  lifted  for  the  sixth  part 
of  a  second,  and  a  voice  that  had  learned  of  the  doves 
in  the  forest  proceeded  to  rebuke  the  flatterer.  "  Thee 
is  idle  in  thy  speech,  Angus  MacLean,"  it  declared. 
"  I  am  not  fair ;  nor,  if  I  were,  should  thee  tell  me  of 
it.  Also,  friend,  it  is  idle  and  tendeth  toward  idolatry 
to  speak  of  the  first  day  of  the  fifth  month  as  May 
Day.  My  mother  sent  me  for  a  paper  of  White- 
chapel  needles,  and  two  of  manikin  pins.  Has  thee 
them  in  thy  store  of  goods  ?  " 

"Come  you  in  and  look  for  yourself,"  said  the 
storekeeper.  "  There 's  woman's  gear  enough,  but  it 
were  easier  for  me  to  recount  the  names  of  all  the 
children  of  Gillean-ni-Tuaidhe  than  to  remember  how 
you  call  the  things  you  wear." 

So  saying  he  entered  the  store.  The  Quakeress 
followed,  and  Haward,  tired  of  his  own  thoughts,  and 
in  the  mood  to  be  amused  by  trifles,  trod  in  their  foot 
steps. 

Door  and  window  faced  the  west,  and  the  glow 
from  the  sinking  sun  illumined  the  thousand  and  one 
features  of  the  place.  Here  was  the  glint  of  tools 
and  weapons ;  there  pewter  shone  like  silver,  and 
brass  dazzled  the  eyes.  Bales  of  red  cotton,  blue 
linen,  flowered  Kidderminster,  scarlet  serge,  gold  and 
silver  drugget,  all  sorts  of  woven  stuffs  from  lockrain 
to  brocade,  made  bright  the  shelves.  Pendent  skins 
of  buck  and  doe  showed  like  brown  satin,  while  look 
ing-glasses  upon  the  wall  reflected  green  trees  and 
painted  clouds.  In  one  dark  corner  lurked  kegs  of 
powder  and  of  shot ;  another  was  the  haunt  of  aqua 


THE  STOREKEEPER  71 

vitae  and  right  Jamaica.  Playing-cards,  snuffboxes, 
and  fringed  gloves  elbowed  a  shelf  of  books,  and  a 
full-bottomed  wig  ogled  a  lady's  headdress  of  rib 
bon  and  malines.  Knives  and  hatchets  and  duffel 
blankets  for  the  Indian  trade  were  not  wanting. 

Haward,  leaning  against  a  table  laden  with  so  sin 
gular  a  miscellany  that  a  fine  saddle  with  crimson 
velvet  holsters  took  the  head  of  the  board,  while  the 
foot  was  set  with  blue  and  white  china,  watched  the 
sometime  moulder  of  peak  and  islet  draw  out  a  case 
filled  with  such  small  and  womanish  articles  as  pins 
and  needles,  tape  and  thread,  and  place  it  before  his 
customer.  She  made  her  choice,  and  the  storekeeper 
brought  a  great  book,  and  entered  against  the  head 
of  the  house  of  Taberer  so  many  pounds  of  tobacco ; 
then,  as  the  maiden  turned  to  depart,  heaved  a  sigh 
so  piteous  and  profound  that  no  tender  saint  in  gray 
could  do  less  than  pause,  half  turn  her  head,  and  lift 
two  compassionate  eyes. 

"Mistress  Truelove,  I  have  read  the  good  book 
that  you  gave  me,  and  I  cannot  deny  that  I  am  much 
beholden  to  you,"  and  her  debtor  sighed  like  a  fur 
nace. 

The  girl's  quiet  face  flushed  to  the  pink  of  a  sea- 
shell,  and  her  eyes  grew  eager. 

"Then  does  thee  not  see  the  error  of  thy  ways, 
Angus  MacLean  ?  If  it  should  be  given  me  to  pluck 
thee  as  a  brand  from  the  burning !  Thee  will  not 
again  brag  of  war  and  revenge,  nor  sing  vain  and 
ruthless  songs,  nor  use  dice  or  cards,  nor  will  thee 
swear  any  more  ?  " 

The  voice  was  persuasion's  own.  "  May  I  be  set 
overtide  on  the  Lady's  Rock,  or  spare  a  false  Camp 
bell  when  I  meet  him,  or  throw  up  my  cap  for  the 


72  AUDREY 

damned  Hogan  Mogan  that  sits  in  Jamie's  place,  if  I 
am  not  entirely  convert !  "  cried  the  neophyte.  "  Oh, 
the  devil !  what  have  I  said  ?  Mistress  Truelove  — 
Truelove"—- 

But  Truelove  was  gone,  —  not  in  anger  or  in  haste, 
for  that  would  have  been  unseemly,  but  quietly  and 
steadily,  with  no  looking  back.  The  storekeeper,  leap 
ing  over  a  keg  of  nails  that  stood  in  the  way,  made  for 
the  door,  and  together  with  Haward,  who  was  already 
there,  watched  her  go.  The  path  to  the  landing  and 
the  boat  was  short ;  she  had  taken  her  seat,  and  the 
boy  had  bent  to  the  oars,  while  the  unlucky  Scot  was 
yet  alternately  calling  out  protestations  of  amend 
ment  and  muttering  maledictions  upon  his  unguarded 
tongue.  The  canoe  slipped  from  the  rosy,  unshadowed 
water  into  the  darkness  beneath  the  overhanging  trees, 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  and  in  a  moment 
disappeared  from  sight. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MASTER  AND   MAN 

THE  two  men,  left  alone,  turned  each  toward  the 
interior  of  the  store,  and  their  eyes  met.  Alike  in 
gray  eyes  and  in  dark  blue  there  was  laughter.  "  Kit 
tle  folk,  the  Quakers,"  said  the  storekeeper,  with  a 
shrug,  and  went  to  put  away  his  case  of  pins  and 
needles.  Haward,  going  to  the  end  of  the  store,  found 
a  row  of  dusty  bottles,  and  breaking  the  neck  of  one 
with  a  report  like  that  of  a  pistol  set  the  Madeira  to 
his  lips,  and  therewith  quenched  his  thirst.  The  wine 
cellar  abutted  upon  the  library.  Taking  off  his  riding 
glove  he  ran  his  finger  along  the  bindings,  and  pluck 
ing  forth  The  History  of  a  Coy  Lady  looked  at  the 
first  page,  read  the  last  paragraph,  and  finally  thrust 
the  thin  brown  and  gilt  volume  into  his  pocket.  Turn 
ing,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  store 
keeper. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  knowing  your  name,  sir," 
remarked  the  latter  dryly.  "  Do  you  buy  at  this  store, 
and  upon  whose  account  ?  " 

Haward  shook  his  head,  and  applied  himself  again 
to  the  Madeira. 

"  Then  you  carry  with  you  coin  of  the  realm  with 
which  to  settle  ?  "  continued  the  other.  "  The  wine  is 
two  shillings;  the  book  you  may  have  for  twelve- 
pence." 

"  Here  I  need  not  pay,  good  fellow,"  said  Haward 


74  AUDREY 

negligently,  his  eyes  upon  a  row  of  dangling  objects. 
"  Fetch  me  down  yonder  cane ;  't  is  as  delicately 
tapered  and  clouded  as  any  at  the  Exchange." 

"  Pay  me  first  for  the  wine  and  the  book,"  answered 
the  man  composedly.  "  It 's  a  dirty  business  enough, 
God  knows,  for  a  gentleman  to  put  finger  to ;  but  since 
needs  must  when  the  devil  drives,  and  he  has  driven 
me  here,  why,  I,  Angus  MacLean,  who  have  no  con 
cerns  of  my  own,  must  e'en  be  faithful  to  the  concerns 
of  another.  Wherefore  put  down  the  silver  you  owe 
the  Sassenach  whose  wine  you  have  drunken  and  whose 
book  you  have  taken." 

"  And  if  I  do  not  choose  to  pay  ?  "  asked  Haward, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Then  you  must  e'en  choose  to  fight,"  was  the  cool 
reply.  "  And  as  I  observe  that  you  wear  neither  sword 
nor  pistols,  and  as  jack  boots  and  a  fine  tight-buttoned 
riding  coat  are  not  the  easiest  clothes  to  wrestle  in,  it 
appears  just  possible  that  I  might  win  the  cause." 

"  And  when  you  've  thrown  me,  what  then?  " 

"Oh,  I  would  just  draw  a  rope  around  you  and 
yonder  cask  of  Jamaica,  and  leave  you  to  read  your 
stolen  book  in  peace  until  Saunderson  (that  's  the 
overseer,  and  he  's  none  so  bad  if  he  was  born  in  Fife) 
shall  come.  You  can  have  it  out  with  him ;  or  maybe 
he  '11  hale  you  before  the  man  that  owns  the  store.  I 
hear  they  expect  him  home." 

Haward  laughed,  and  abstracting  another  bottle 
from  the  shelf  broke  its  neck.  "  Hand  me  yonder 
cup,"  he  said  easily,  "  and  we  '11  drink  to  his  home 
coming.  Good  fellow,  I  am  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward, 
and  I  am  glad  to  find  so  honest  a  man  in  a  place  of  no 
small  trust.  Long  absence  and  somewhat  too  com 
plaisant  a  reference  of  all  my  Virginian  affairs  to  my 


MASTER  AND  MAN  75 

agent  have  kept  me  much  in  ignorance  of  the  eco 
nomy  of  my  plantation.  How  long  have  you  been  my 
storekeeper?" 

Neither  cup  for  the  wine  nor  answer  to  the  question 
being  forthcoming,  Haward  looked  up  from  his  broken 
bottle.  The  man  was  standing  with  his  body  bent 
forward  and  his  hand  pressed  against  the  wood  of  a 
great  cask  behind  him  until  the  finger-nails  showed 
white.  His  head  was  high,  his  face  dark  red  and 
angry,  his  brows  drawn  down  until  the  gleaming  eyes 
beneath  were  like  pin  points. 

So  sudden  and  so  sinister  was  the  change  that  Ha 
ward  was  startled.  The  hour  was  late,  the  place  de 
serted  ;  as  the  man  had  discovered,  he  had  no  weapons, 
nor,  strong,  active,  and  practiced  as  he  was,  did  he 
flatter  himself  that  he  could  withstand  the  length  of 
brawn  and  sinew  before  him.  Involuntarily,  he  stepped 
backward  until  there  was  a  space  between  them,  cast 
ing  at  the  same  moment  a  glance  toward  the  wall  where 
hung  axe  and  knife  and  hatchet. 

The  man  intercepted  the  look,  and  broke  into  a 
laugh.  The  sound  was  harsh  and  gibing,  but  not 
menacing.  "  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  he  said.  "  I 
do  not  want  the  feel  of  a  rope  around  my  neck,  — 
though  God  knows  why  I  should  care !  Here  is  no 
clansman  of  mine,  and  no  cursed  Campbell  either,  to 
see  my  end !  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  Haward  answered  calmly.  Walk 
ing  to  the  shelf  that  held  an  array  of  drinking  vessels, 
he  took  two  cups,  filled  them  with  wine,  and  going 
back  to  his  former  station,  set  one  upon  the  cask  be 
side  the  storekeeper.  "  The  wine  is  good,"  he  said. 
"Will  you  drink?" 

The  other  loosened  the  clasp  of  his  hand  upon  the 


76  AUDREY 

wood  and  drew  himself  upright.  "I  eat  the  bread 
and  drink  the  water  which  you  give  your  servants," 
he  answered,  speaking  with  the  thickness  of  hardly 
restrained  passion.  "  The  wine  cup  goes  from  equal 
to  equal." 

As  he  spoke  he  took  up  the  peace  offering,  eyed  it 
for  a  moment  with  a  bitter  smile,  then  flung  it  with 
force  over  his  shoulder.  The  earthen  floor  drank  the 
wine ;  the  china  shivered  into  a  thousand  fragments. 
"  I  have  neither  silver  nor  tobacco  with  which  to  pay 
for  my  pleasure,"  continued  the  still  smiling  store 
keeper.  "  When  I  am  come  to  the  end  of  my  term, 
then,  an  it  please  you,  I  will  serve  out  the  damage." 

Haward  sat  down  upon  a  keg  of  powder,  crossed  his 
knees,  and,  with  his  chin  upon  his  hand,  looked  from 
between  the  curled  lengths  of  his  periwig  at  the  figure 
opposite.  "  I  am  glad  to  find  that  in  Virginia,  at  least, 
there  is  honesty,"  he  said  dryly.  "  I  will  try  to  re 
member  the  cost  of  the  cup  and  the  wine  against  the 
expiry  of  your  indenture.  In  the  mean  time.  I  am 
curious  to  know  why  you  are  angry  with  me  whom 
you  have  never  seen  before  to-day." 

With  the  dashing  of  the  wine  to  earth  the  other's 
passion  had  apparently  spent  itself.  The  red  slowly 
left  his  face,  and  he  leaned  at  ease  against  the  cask, 
drumming  upon  its  head  with  his  fingers.  The  sun 
light,  shrinking  from  floor  and  wall,  had  left  but  a  sin 
gle  line  of  gold.  In  the  half  light  strange  and  sombre 
shapes  possessed  the  room  ;  through  the  stillness,  be 
neath  the  sound  of  the  tattoo  upon  the  cask  head,  the 
river  made  itself  heard. 

"  For  ten  years  and  more  you  have  been  my  —  mas 
ter,"  said  the  storekeeper.  "  It  is  a  word  for  which  I 
have  an  invincible  distaste.  It  is  not  well  —  having 


MASTER  AND  MAN  77 

.  neither  love  nor  friendship  to  put  in  its  place  —  to  let 
hatred  die.  When  I  came  first  to  this  slavery,  I  hated 
all  Campbells,  all  Whigs,  Forster  that  betrayed  us  at 
Preston,  and  Ewin  Mor  Mackinnon.  But  the  years 
have  come  and  the  years  have  gone,  and  I  am  older 
than  I  was  at  twenty-five.  The  Campbells  I  can  never 
reach :  they  walk  secure,  overseas,  through  Lorn  and 
Argyle,  couching  in  the  tall  heather  above  Etive,  track 
ing  the  red  deer  in  the  Forest  of  Dalness.  Forster  is 
dead.  Ewin  Mackinnon  is  dead,  I  know ;  for  five 
years  ago  come  Martinmas  night  I  saw  his  perjured 
soul  on  its  way  to  hell.  All  the  world  is  turning 
Whig.  A  man  may  hate  the  world,  it  is  true,  but  he 
needs  a  single  foe." 

"  And  in  that  capacity  you  have  adopted  me  ? " 
demanded  Haward. 

MacLean  let  his  gaze  travel  over  the  man  opposite 
him,  from  the  looped  hat  and  the  face  between  the 
waves  of  hair  to  the  gilt  spurs  upon  the  great  boots ; 
then  turned  his  eyes  upon  his  own  hand  and  coarsely 
clad  arm  stretched  across  the  cask.  "  I,  too,  am  a 
gentleman,  the  brother  of  a  chieftain,"  he  declared. 
"  I  am  not  without  schooling.  I  have  seen  something 
of  life,  and  of  countries  more  polite  than  the  land 
where  I  was  born,  though  not  so  dear.  I  have  been 
free,  and  have  loved  my  freedom.  Do  you  find  it 
so  strange  that  I  should  hate  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  silence ;  then,  "  Upon  my  soul,  I  d(? 
not  know  that  I  do,"  said  Haward  slowly.  "  And 
yet,  until  this  day  I  did  not  know  of  your  existence." 

"  But  I  knew  of  yours,"  answered  the  storekeeper. 
"Your  agent  hath  an  annoying  trick  of  speech,  and 
the  overseers  have  caught  it  from  him.  4  Your  mas 
ter  '  this,  and  '  your  master '  that ;  in  short,  for  ten 


78  AUDREY 

years  it  hath  been,  '  Work,  you  dog,  that  your  master 
may  play ! '  Well,  I  have  worked ;  it  was  that,  or 
killing  myself,  or  going  mad.  I  have  worked  for  you 
in  the  fields,  in  the  smithy,  in  this  close  room.  But 
when  you  bought  my  body,  you  could  not  buy  my 
soul.  Day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  I  sent  it 
away ;  I  would  not  let  it  bide  in  these  dull  levels,  in 
this  cursed  land  of  heat  and  stagnant  waters.  At 
first  it  went  home  to  its  own  country,  —  to  its  friends 
and  its  foes,  to  the  torrent  and  the  mountain  and  the 
music  of  the  pipes ;  but  at  last  the  pain  outweighed 
the  pleasure,  and  I  sent  it  there  no  more.  And  then 
it  began  to  follow  you." 

"  To  follow  me  !  "  involuntarily  exclaimed  Haward. 

"  I  have  been  in  London,"  went  on  the  other,  with 
out  heeding  the  interruption.  "  I  know  the  life  of 
men  of  quality,  and  where  they  most  resort.  I  early 
learned  from  your  other  servants,  and  from  the  chance 
words  of  those  who  had  your  affairs  in  charge,  that 
you  were  young,  well-looking,  a  man  of  pleasure.  At 
first  when  I  thought  of  you  the  blood  came  into  my 
cheek,  but  at  last  I  thought  of  you  constantly,  and  I 
felt  for  you  a  constant  hatred.  It  began  when  I  knew 
that  Ewin  Mackinnon  was  dead.  I  had  no  need  of 
love ;  I  had  need  of  hate.  Day  after  day,  my  body 
slaving  here,  my  mind  has  dogged  your  footsteps. 
Up  and  down,  to  and  fro,  in  business  and  in  pleasure, 
in  whatever  place  I  have  imagined  you  to  be,  there 
have  I  been  also.  Did  you  never,  when  there  seemed 
none  by,  look  over  your  shoulder,  feeling  another  pre 
sence  than  your  own  ?  " 

He  ceased  to  speak,  and  the  hand  upon  the  cask 
was  still.  The  sunshine  was  clean  gone  from  the 
room,  and  without  the  door  the  wind  in  the  locust- 


MASTER  AND  MAN  79 

tree  answered  the  voice  of  the  river.  Ha  ward  rose 
from  his  seat,  but  made  no  further  motion  toward  de 
parting.  "  You  have  been  frank,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  Had  you  it  in  mind,  all  this  while,  so  to  speak  to 
me  when  we  should  meet  ?  " 

"  No,'1  answered  the  other.  "  I  thought  not  of 
\vords,  but  of  "  — 

"  But  of  deeds,"  Haward  finished  for  him.  "  Rather, 
I  imagine,  of  one  deed." 

Composed  as  ever  in  voice  and  manner,  he  drew 
out  his  watch,  and  held  it  aslant  that  the  light  might 
strike  upon  the  dial.  "  'T  is  after  six,"  he  remarked 
as  he  put  it  away,  "  and  I  am  yet  a  mile  from  the 
house."  The  wine  that  he  had  poured  for  himself 
had  been  standing,  untouched,  upon  the  keg  beside 
him.  He  took  it  up  and  drank  it  off  ;  then  wiped  his 
lips  with  his  handkerchief,  and  passing  the  storekeeper 
with  a  slight  inclination  of  his  head  walked  toward  the 
door.  A  yard  beyond  the  man  who  had  so  coolly 
shown  his  side  of  the  shield  was  a  rude  table,  on  which 
were  displayed  hatchets  and  hunting  knives.  Haward 
passed  the  gleaming  steel ;  then,  a  foot  beyond  it, 
stood  still,  his  face  to  the  open  door,  and  his  back  to 
the  storekeeper  and  the  table  with  its  sinister  lading. 

"  You  do  wrong  to  allow  so  much  dust  and  disor 
der,"  he  said  sharply.  "  I  could  write  my  name  in 
that  mirror,  and  there  is  a  piece  of  brocade  fallen  to 
the  floor.  Look  to  it  that  you  keep  the  place  more 
neat." 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  moment ;  then  Mac- 
Lean  spoke  in  an  even  voice  :  "  Now  a  fool  might  call 
you  as  brave  as  Hector.  For  myself,  I  only  give  you 
credit  for  some  knowledge  of  men.  You  are  right. 
It  is  not  my  way  to  strike  in  the  back  an  unarmed 


80  AUDREY 

man.  When  you  are  gone,  I  will  wipe  off  the  mirror 
and  pick  up  the  brocade." 

He  followed  Haward  outside.  "  It 's  a  brave  even 
ing  for  riding,"  he  remarked,  "  and  you  have  a  bonny 
bit  of  horseflesh  there.  You  '11  get  to  the  house  before 
candlelight." 

Beside  one  of  the  benches  Haward  made  another 
pause.  "  You  are  a  Highlander  and  a  Jacobite,"  he 
said.  "  From  your  reference  to  Forster,  I  gather  that 
you  were  among  the  prisoners  taken  at  Preston  and 
transported  to  Virginia." 

"  In  the  Elizabeth  and  Anne  of  Liverpool,  alias  a 
bit  of  hell  afloat ;  the  master,  Captain  Edward  Traf- 
ford,  alias  Satan's  first  mate,"  quoth  the  other  grimly. 

He  stooped  to  the  bench  where  lay  the  debris  of  the 
coast  and  mountains  he  had  been  lately  building,  and 
picked  up  a  small,  deep  shell.  "  My  story  is  short," 
he  began.  "  It  could  be  packed  into  this.  I  was  born 
in  the  island  of  Mull,  of  my  father  a  chieftain,  and 
my  mother  a  lady.  Some  schooling  I  got  in  Aberdeen, 
some  pleasure  in  Edinburgh  and  London,  and  some 
service  abroad.  In  my  twenty-third  year  —  being  at 
home  at  that  time  —  I  was  asked  to  a  hunting  match  at 
Braemar,  and  went.  No  great  while  afterwards  I  was 
bidden  to  supper  at  an  Edinburgh  tavern,  and  again  I 
accepted  the  invitation.  There  was  a  small  entertain 
ment  to  follow  the  supper,  —  just  the  taking  of  Edin 
burgh  Castle.  But  the  wine  was  good,  and  we  waited 
to  powder  our  hair,  and  the  entertainment  could  hardly 
be  called  a  success.  Hard  upon  that  convivial  even 
ing,  I,  with  many  others,  was  asked  across  the  Border 
to  join  a  number  of  gentlemen  who  drank  to  the  King 
after  our  fashion,  and  had  a  like  fancy  for  oak  boughs 
and  white  roses.  The  weather  was  pleasant,  the  com- 


MASTER  AND  MAN  81 

pany  of  the  best,  the  roads  very  noble  after  our  High 
land  sheep  tracks.  Together  with  our  English  friends, 
and  enlivened  by  much  good  claret  and  by  music  of 
bagpipe  and  drum,  we  strolled  on  through  a  fine,  pop 
ulous  country  until  we  came  to  a  town  called  Preston, 
where  we  thought  we  would  tarry  for  a  day  or  two. 
However,  circumstances  arose  which  detained  us  some 
what  longer.  (I  dare  say  you  have  heard  the  story  ?) 
When  finally  we  took  our  leave,  some  of  us  went  to 
heaven,  some  to  hell,  and  some  to  Barbadoes  and  Vir 
ginia.  I  was  among  those  dispatched  to  Virginia,  and 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  I  died  the  day  I  landed. 
There,  the  shell  is  full !  " 

He  tossed  it  from  him,  and  going  to  the  hitching- 
post  loosed  Haward's  horse.  Haward  took  the  reins 
from  his  hand.  "  It  hath  been  ten  years  and  more 
since  Virginia  got  her  share  of  the  rebels  taken  at 
Preston.  If  I  remember  aright,  their  indentures  were 
to  be  made  for  seven  years.  Why,  then,  are  you  yet 
in  my  service  ?  " 

MacLean  laughed.  "  I  ran  away,"  he  replied  plea 
santly,  "  and  when  I  was  caught  I  made  off  a  second 
time.  I  wonder  that  you  planters  do  not  have  a 
Society  for  the  Encouragement  of  Runaways.  Seeing 
that  they  are  nearly  always  retaken,  and  that  their 
escapades  so  lengthen  their  term  of  service,  it  would 
surely  be  to  your  advantage  I  There  are  yet  several 
years  in  which  I  am  to  call  you  master." 

He  laughed  again,  but  the  sound  was  mirthless,  and 
the  eyes  beneath  the  half-closed  lids  were  harder  than 
Steel.  Haward  mounted  his  horse  and  gathered  up 
the  reins.  "  I  arn  not  responsible  for  the  laws  of  the 
realm,"  he  said  calmly,  "  nor  for  rebellions  and  insur 
rections,  nor  for  the  practice  of  transporting  overseas 


82  AUDREY 

those  to  whom  have  been  given  the  ugly  names  of 
'  rebel '  and  '  traitor.'  Destiny  that  set  you  there  put 
me  here.  We  are  alike  pawns;  what  the  player 
means  we'  have  no  way  of  telling.  Curse  Fate  and 
the  gods,  if  you  choose,  —  and  find  that  your  cursing 
does  small  good,  —  but  regard  me  with  indifference, 
as  one  neither  more  nor  less  the  slave  of  circumstances 
than  yourself.  It  has  been  long  since  I  went  this 
way.  Is  there  yet  the  path  by  the  river?" 

"  Ay,"  answered  the  other.  "  It  is  your  shortest 
road." 

"  Then  I  will  be  going,"  said  Haward.  "  It  grows 
late,  and  I  am  not  looked  for  before  to-morrow.  Good 
night." 

As  he  spoke  he  raised  his  hat  and  bowed  to  the 
gentleman  from  whom  he  was  parting.  That  rebel  to 
King  George  gave  a  great  start ;  then  turned  very 
red,  and  shot  a  piercing  glance  at  the  man  on  horse 
back.  The  latter  s  mien  was  composed  as  ever,  and, 
with  his  hat  held  beneath  his  arm  and  his  body  slightly 
inclined,  he  was  evidently  awaiting  a  like  ceremony 
of  learo-taking  on  the  storekeeper's  part.  MacLean 
drew  a  long  breath,  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  and 
bowed  to  his  equal.  A  second  "  Good-night,"  and 
one  gentleman  rode  off  in  the  direction  of  the  great 
house,  while  the  other  went  thoughtfully  back  to  the 
store*  got  a  cloth  and  wiped  the  dust  from  the  mirror. 

It  was  pleasant  riding  by  the  river  in  the  cool  even^ 
ing  wind,  with  the  colors  of  the  sunset  yet  gay  in  sky 
and  water.  Haward  went  slowly,  glancing  now  at 
the  great,  bright  stream,  now  at  the  wide,  calm  fields 
and  the  rim  of  woodland,  dark  and  distant,  bounding 
his  possessions.  The  smell  of  salt  marshes,  of  ploughed 
ground,  of  leagues  of  flowering  forests,  was  in  his  nos- 


MASTER  AND  MAN  83 

trils.  Behind  Mm  was  the  crescent-  moon  ;  before  him 
a  terrace  crowned  with  lofty  trees.  Within  the  ring 
of  foliage  was  the  house ;  even  as  he  looked  a  light 
sprang  up  in  a  high  window,  and  shone  like  a  star 
through  the  gathering  dusk.  Below  the  hill  the  home 
landing  ran  its  gaunt  black  length  far  out  into  the 
carmine  of  the  river;  upon  the  Golden  Rose  lights 
burned  like  lower  stars ;  from  a  thicket  to  the  left  of 
the  bridle  path  sounded  the  call  of  a  whippoorwill. 
A  gust  of  wind  blowing  from  the  bay  made  to  waver 
the  lanterns  of  the  Golden  Kose,  broke  and  darkened 
the  coral  peace  of  the  river,  and  pushed  rudely  against 
the  master  of  those  parts.  Haward  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  horse  that  he  loved.  "  This  is  better  than 
the  Ring,  is  n't  it,  Mirza?  "  he  asked  genially,  and  the 
horse  whinnied  under  his  touch. 

The  land  was  quite  gray,  the  river  pearl-colored, 
and  the  fireflies  beginning  to  sparkle,  when  he  rode 
through  the  home  gates.  In  the  dusk  of  the  world, 
out  of  the  deeper  shadow  of  the  surrounding  trees,  his 
house  looked  grimly  upon  him.  The  light  had  been 
at  the  side ;  all  the  front  was  stark  and  black  with 
shuttered  windows.  He  rode  to  the  back  of  the  house 
and  hallooed  to  the  slaves  in  the  home  quarter,  where 
were  lights  and  noisy  laughter,  and  one  deep  voice 
singing  in  an  unknown  tongue. 

It  was  but  a  stone's  throw  to  the  nearest  cabin,  and 
Haward's  call  made  itself  heard  above  the  babel.  The 
noise  suddenly  lessened,  and  two  or  three  negroes, 
starting  up  from  the  doorstep,  hurried  across  the  grass 
to  horse  and  rider.  Quickly  as  they  came,  some  one 
within  the  house  was  beforehand  with  them.  The  door 
swung  open ;  there  was  the  flare  of  a  lighted  candle, 
and  a  voice  cried  out  to  know  what  was  wanted. 


84  AUDREY 

"  Wanted ! "  exclaimed  Haward.  "  Ingress  into 
my  own  house  is  wanted  !  Where  is  Juba  ?  " 

One  of  the  negroes  pressed  forward.  "  Heah  I  is, 
Marse  Duke !  House  all  ready  for  you,  but  you  done 
sont  word  "  — 

"I  know,  —  I  know,"  answered  Haward  impatiently. 
"  I  changed  my  mind.  Is  that  you,  Saunderson,  with 
the  light?  Or  is  it  Hide?" 

The  candle  moved  to  one  side,  and  there  was  dis 
closed  a  large  white  face  atop  of  a  shambling  figure 
dressed  in  some  coarse,  dark  stuff.  "Neither,  sir," 
said  an  expressionless  voice.  "Will  it  please  your 
Honor  to  dismount  ?  " 

Haward  swung  himself  out  of  the  saddle,  tossed  the 
reins  to  a  negro,  and,  with  Juba  at  his  heels,  climbed 
the  five  low  stone  steps  and  entered  the  wide  hall  run 
ning  through  the  house  and  broken  only  by  the  broad, 
winding  stairway.  Save  for  the  glimmer  of  the  soli 
tary  candle  ail  was  in  darkness ;  the  bare  floor,  the 
paneled  walls,  echoed  to  his  tread.  On  either  hand 
squares  of  blackness  proclaimed  the  open  doors  of 
large,  empty  rooms,  and  down  the  stair  came  a  wind 
that  bent  the  weak  flame.  The  negro  took  the  light 
from  the  hand  of  the  man  who  had  opened  the  door, 
and,  pressing  past  his  master,  lit  three  candles  in  a 
sconce  upon  the  wall, 

"  Yo'  room 's  all  ready,  Marse  Duke,"  he  declared. 
"  Dere  's  candles  enough,  an'  de  fire  am  laid  an'  yo' 
bed  aired.  Ef  you  wan'  some  supper,  I  kin  get  you 
bread  an'  meat,  an*  de  wine  was  put  in  yesterday." 

Haward  nodded,  and  taking  the  candle  began  to 
mount  the  stairs.  Half  way  up  he  found  that  the 
man  in  the  sad-colored  raiment  was  following  him. 
He  raised  his  brows,  but  being  in  a  taciturn  humor, 


MASTER  AND  MAN  85 

and  having,  moreover,  to  shield  the  flame  from  the 
wind  that  drove  down  the  stair,  he  said  nothing,  going 
on  in  silence  to  the  landing,  and  to  the  great  eastward- 
facing  room  that  had  been  his  father's,  and  which 
now  he  meant  to  make  his  own.  There  were  candles 
on  the  table,  the  dresser,  and  the  mantelshelf.  He 
lit  them  all,  and  the  room  changed  from  a  place  of 
shadows  and  monstrous  shapes  to  a  gentleman's  bed 
chamber,  —  somewhat  sparsely  furnished,  but  of  a 
comfortable  and  cheerful  aspect.  A  cloth  lay  upon 
the  floor,  the  windows  were  curtained,  and  the  bed 
had  fresh  hangings  of  green  and  white  Kidderminster. 
Over  the  mantel  hung  a  painting  of  Haward  and  his 
mother,  done  when  he  was  six  years  old.  Beneath 
the  laughing  child  and  the  smiling  lady,  young  and 
flower-crowned,  were  crossed  two  ancient  swords.  In 
the  middle  of  the  room  stood  a  heavy  table,  and 
pushed  back,  as  though  some  one  had  lately  risen 
from  it,  was  an  armchair  of  Russian  leather.  Books 
lay  upon  the  table ;  one  of  them  open,  with  a  horn 
snuffbox  keeping  down  the  leaf. 

Haward  seated  himself  in  the  great  chair,  and 
looked  around  him  with  a  thoughtful  and  melancholy 
smile.  He  could  not  clearly  remember  his  mother. 
The  rings  upon  her  fingers  and  her  silvery  laughter 
were  all  that  dwelt  in  his  mind,  arid  now  only  the 
sound  of  that  merriment  floated  back  to  him  and  lin 
gered  in  the  room.  But  his  father  had  died  upon  that 
bed,  and  beside  the  dead  man,  between  the  candles  at 
the  head  and  the  candles  at  the  foot,  he  had  sat  the 
night  through.  The  curtains  were  half  drawn,  and  in 
their  shadow  his  imagination  laid  again  that  cold, 
inanimate  form.  Twelve  years  ago  1  How  young  he 
bad  been  that  night,  and  how  old  he  ^ad  thought  Lim- 


86  AUDREY 

self  as  he  watched  beside  the  dead,  chilled  by  the  cold 
of  the  crossed  hands,  awed  by  the  silence,  half  frighted 
by  the  shadows  on  the  wall ;  now  filled  with  natural 
grief,  now  with  surreptitious  and  shamefaced  thoughts 
of  his  changed  estate,  —  yesterday  son  and  dependent, 
to-day  heir  and  master!  Twelve  years!  The  sigh 
and  the  smile  were  not  for  the  dead  father,  but  for 
his  own  dead  youth,  for  the  unjaded  freshness  of  the 
morning,  for  the  world  that  had  been,  once  upon  a 
time. 

Turning  in  his  seat,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  man  who 
had  followed  him,  and  who  was  now  standing  between 
the  table  and  the  door.  "  Well,  friend?"  he  de 
manded. 

The  man  came  a  step  or  two  nearer.  His  hat  was 
in  his  hand,  and  his  body  was  obsequiously  bent,  but 
there  was  no  discomposure  in  his  lifeless  voice  and 
manner.  "  I  stayed  to  explain  my  presence  in  the 
house,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  am  a  lover  of  reading,  and, 
knowing  my  weakness,  your  overseer,  who  keeps  the 
keys  of  the  house,  has  been  so  good  as  to  let  me,  from 
time  to  time,  come  here  to  this  room  to  mingle  in  more 
delectable  company  than  I  can  choose  without  these 
walls.  Your  Honor  doubtless  remembers  yonder 
goodly  assemblage?"  He  motioned  with  his  hand 
toward  a  half -opened  door,  showing  a  closet  lined  with 
well-filled  bookshelves. 

"I  remember,"  replied  Haward  dryly.  "So  you 
come  to  my  room  alone  at  night,  and  occupy  yourself 
in  reading  ?  And  when  you  are  wearied  you  refresh 
yourself  with  my  wine  ? "  As  he  spoke  he  clinked 
together  the  bottle  and  glass  that  stood  beside  the 
books. 

"  I  plead  guilty  to  the  wine,''  answered  the  intruder, 


MASTER  AND  MAN  8? 

SL9  lifelessly  as  ever,  "  but  it  is  my  only  theft.  I  found 
the  bottle  below,  and  did  not  think  it  would  be  missed. 
I  trust  that  your  Honor  does  not  grudge  it  to  a  poor 
devil  who  tastes  Burgundy  somewhat  seldomer  than 
does  your  "Worship.  And  my  being  in  the  house  is 
pure  innocence.  Your  overseer  knew  that  I  would 
neither  make  nor  meddle  with  aught  but  the  books,  or 
he  would  not  have  given  me  the  key  to  the  little  door, 
which  I  now  restore  to  your  Honor's  keeping/'  He 
advanced,  and  deposited  upon  the  table  a  large  key. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  demanded  Haward,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair. 

"  Bartholomew  Paris,  sir.  I  keep  the  school  down 
by  the  swamp,  where  I  impart  to  fifteen  or  twenty  of 
the  youth  of  these  parts  the  rudiments  of  the  ancient 
and  modern  tongues,  mathematics,  geography,  fortifi 
cations,  navigation,  philosophy  "  — 

Haward  yawned,  and  the  schoolmaster  broke  the 
thread  of  his  discourse.  "  I  weary  you,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  I  will,  with  your  permission,  take  my  departure. 
May  I  make  so  bold  as  to  beg  your  Honor  that  you 
will  not  mention  to  the  gentlemen  hereabouts  the 
small  matter  of  this  bottle  of  wine  ?  I  would  wish 
not  to  be  prejudiced  in  the  eyes  of  my  patrons  and 
scholars." 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  Haward  replied.  "  Come  and 
take  your  snuffbox  —  if  it  be  yours  —  from  the  book 
where  you  have  left  it." 

"  It  is  mine,"  said  the  man.  "  A  present  from  the 
godly  minister  of  this  parish." 

As  he  spoke  he  put  out  his  hand  to  take  the  snuff 
box.  Haward  leaned  forward,  seized  the  hand,  and, 
bending  back  the  fingers,  exposed  the  palm  to  the 
light  of  the  candles  upon  the  table. 


88  AUDREY 

"  The  other,  if  you  please,"  he  commanded. 

For  a  second  —  no  longer  —  a  wicked  soul  looked 
blackly  out  of  the  face  to  which  he  had  raised  his 
eyes.  Then  the  window  shut,  and  the  wall  was  blank 
again.  Without  any  change  in  his  listless  demeanor, 
the  schoolmaster  laid  his  left  hand,  palm  out,  beside 
his  right. 

"  Humph ! ''  exclaimed  Haward.  "  So  you  have 
stolen  before  to-night  ?  The  marks  are  old.  When 
were  you  branded,  and  where  ?  " 

"  In  Bristol,  fifteen  years  ago,"  answered  the  man 
unblushingly.  "  It  was  all  a  mistake.  I  was  as  inno 
cent  as  a  newborn  babe  "  — 

"  But  unfortunately  could  not  prove  it,"  interrupted 
Haward.  "  That  is  of  course.  Go  on." 

"  I  was  transported  to  South  Carolina,  and  there 
served  out  my  term.  The  climate  did  not  suit  me, 
and  1  liked  not  the  society,  nor  —  being  of  a  peaceful 
disposition  —  the  constant  alarms  of  pirates  and  buc 
caneers.  So  when  I  was  once  more  my  own  man  I 
traveled  north  to  Virginia  with  a  party  of  traders.  In 
my  youth  I  had  been  an  Oxford  servitor,  and  school 
masters  are  in  demand  in  Virginia.  Weighed  in  the 
scales  with  a  knowledge  of  the  humanities  and  some 
skill  in  imparting  them,  what  matters  a  little  mishap 
with  hot  irons  ?  My  patrons  are  willing  to  let  by 
gones  be  bygones.  My  school  flourishes  like  a  green 
bay-tree,  and  the  minister  of  this  parish  will  speak  for 
the  probity  and  sobriety  of  my  conduct.  Now  I  will 
go,  sir." 

He  made  an  awkward  but  deep  and  obsequious  rev 
erence,  turned  and  went  out  of  the  door,  passing  Juba, 
who  was  entering  with  a  salver  laden  with  bread  and 
meat  and  a  couple  of  bottles.  "  Put  down  the  food, 


MASTER  AND  MAN  89 

Juba,"  said  Haward,  "  and  see  this  gentleman  out  of 
the  house." 

An  hour  later  the  master  dismissed  the  slave,  and 
sat  down  beside  the  table  to  finish  the  wine  and  com 
pose  himself  for  the  night.  The  overseer  had  come 
hurrying  to  the  great  house,  to  be  sent  home  again  by 
a  message  from  the  owner  thereof  that  to-morrow 
would  do  for  business ;  the  negro  women  who  had 
been  called  to  make  the  bed  were  gone ;  the  noises 
from  the  quarter  had  long  ceased,  and  the  house  was 
very  still.  In  his  rich,  figured  Indian  nightgown  and 
his  silken  nightcap,  Haward  sat  and  drank  his  wine, 
slowly,  with  long  pauses  between  the  emptying  and 
the  filling  of  the  slender,  tall-stemmed  glass.  A  win 
dow  was  open,  and  the  wind  blowing  in  made  the 
candles  to  flicker.  With  the  wind  came  a  murmur  of 
leaves  and  the  wash  of  the  river,  —  stealthy  and 
mournful  sounds  that  sorted  not  with  the  lighted 
room,  the  cheerful  homeliness  of  the  flowered  hang 
ings,  the  gleeful  lady  and  child  above  the  mantelshelf. 
Haward  felt  the  incongruity :  a  slow  sea  voyage,  and 
a  week  in  that  Virginia  which,  settled  one  hundred 
and  twenty  years  before,  was  yet  largely  forest  and 
stream,  had  weaned  him,  he  thought,  from  sounds 
of  the  street,  and  yet  to-night  he  missed  them,  and 
would  have  had  the  town  again.  When  an  owl  hooted 
in  the  walnut-tree  outside  his  window,  and  in  the  dis 
tance,  as  far  away  as  the  creek  quarter,  a  dog  howled, 
and  the  silence  closed  in  again,  he  rose,  and  began  to 
walk  to  and  fro,  slowly,  thinking  of  the  past  and  the 
future.  The  past  had  its  ghosts,  —  not  many ;  what 
spectres  the  future  might  raise  only  itself  could  tell. 
So  far  as  mortal  vision  went,  it  was  a  rose-colored 
future ;  but  on  such  a  night  of  silence  that  was  not 


90  AUDREY 

silence,  of  loneliness  that  was  filled  with  still,  small 
voices,  of  heavy  darkness  without,  of  lights  burning 
in  an  empty  house,  it  was  rather  of  ashes  of  roses  that 
one  thought. 

Haward  went  to  the  open  window,  and  with  one 
knee  upon  the  window  seat  looked  out  into  the  windy, 
starlit  night.  This  was  the  eastern  face  of  the  house, 
and,  beyond  the  waving  trees,  there  were  visible  both 
the  river  and  the  second  and  narrower  creek  which 
on  this  side  bounded  the  plantation.  The  voice  with 
which  the  waters  swept  to  the  sea  came  strongly  to 
him.  A  large  white  moth  sailed  out  of  the  darkness 
to  the  lit  window,  but  his  presence  scared  it  away. 

Looking  through  the  walnut  branches,  he  could  see 
a  light  that  burned  steadily,  like  a  candle  set  in  a 
window.  For  a  moment  he  wondered  whence  it 
shone ;  then  he  remembered  that  the  glebe  lands  lay 
in  that  direction.  The  parish  was  building  a  house 
for  its  new  minister,  when  he  left  Virginia,  those 
many  years  ago.  Suddenly  he  recalled  that  the  min 
ister —  who  had  seemed  to  him  a  bluff,  downright, 
honest  fellow  —  had  told  him  of  a  little  room  looking 
out  upon  an  orchard,  and  had  said  that  it  should  be 
the  child's. 

It  was  possible  that  the  star  which  pierced  the  dark 
ness  might  mark  that  room.  He  knit  his  brows  in  an 
effort  to  remember  when,  before  this  day,  he  had  last 
thought  of  a  child  whom  he  had  held  in  his  arms  and 
comforted,  one  splendid  dawn,  upon  a  hilltop,  in  a 
mountainous  region.  He  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  must  have  forgotten  her  quite  six  years  ago.  Well, 
she  would  seem  to  have  thriven  under  his  neglect,  — 
and  he  saw  again  the  girl  who  had  run  for  the  golden 
guinea.  It  was  true  that  when  he  had  put  her  there 


MASTER  AND   MAN  91 

where  that  light  was  shining,  it  was  with  some  shadowy 
idea  of  giving  her  gentle  breeding,  of  making  a  lady 
of  her.  But  man's  purposes  are  fleeting,  and  often 
gone  with  the  morrow.  He  had  forgotten  his  pur 
pose  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  best  this  way,  —  perhaps  it 
was  best  this  way. 

For  a  little  longer  he  looked  at  the  light  and  listened 
to  the  voice  of  the  river ;  then  he  rose  from  the  win 
dow  seat,  drew  the  curtains,  and  began  thoughtfully 
to  prepare  for  bed. 


CHAPTER  VH 

THE  RETURN   OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON 

To  the  north  the  glebe  was  bounded  by  a  thick 
wood,  a  rank  and  dense  "  second  growth  "  springing 
from  earth  where  had  once  stood,  decorously  apart, 
the  monster  trees  of  the  primeval  forest ;  a  wild  maze 
of  young  trees,  saplings  and  underbrush,  overrun 
from  the  tops  of  the  slender,  bending  pines  to  the 
bushes  of  dogwood  and  sassafras,  and  the  rotting, 
ancient  stumps  and  fallen  logs,  by  the  uncontrollable, 
all-spreading  vine.  It  was  such  a  fantastic  thicket  as 
one  might  look  to  find  in  fairyland,  thorny  and  im 
penetrable  :  here  as  tall  as  a  ten  years'  pine,  there 
sunken  away  to  the  height  of  the  wild  honeysuckles ; 
everywhere  backed  by  blue  sky,  heavy  with  odors, 
filled  with  the  flash  of  wings  and  the  songs  of  birds. 
To  the  east  the  thicket  fell  away  to  low  and  marshy 
grounds,  where  tall  cypresses  grew,  and  myriads  of 
myrtle  bushes.  Later  in  the  year  women  and  children 
would  venture  in  upon  the  unstable  earth  for  the  sake 
of  the  myrtle  berries  and  their  yield  of  fragrant  wax, 
and  once  and  again  an  outlying  slave  had  been  tracked 
by  men  and  dogs  to  the  dark  recesses  of  the  place ; 
but  for  the  most  part  it  was  given  over  to  its  imme 
morial  silence.  To  the  south  and  the  west  the  tobacco 
fields  of  Fair  View  closed  in  upon  the  glebe,  taking 
the  fertile  river  bank,  and  pressing  down  to  the 


THE  EETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON    93 

crooked,  slow-moving,  deeply  shadowed  creek,  upon 
whose  farther  bank  stood  the  house  of  the  Rev.  Gideon 
Darden, 

A  more  retired  spot,  a  completer  sequestration  from 
the  world  of  mart  and  highway,  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  find.  In  the  quiet  of  the  early  morning, 
when  the  shadows  of  the  trees  lay  across  the  dewy 
grass,  it  was  an  angle  of  the  earth  as  cloistral  and 
withdrawn  as  heart  of  scholar  or  of  anchorite  could 
wish.  On  one  side  of  the  house  lay  a  tiny  orchard, 
and  the  windows  of  the  living  room  looked  out  upon  a 
mist  of  pink  and  white  apple  blooms.  The  fragrance 
of  the  blossoms  had  been  in  the  room,  but  could  not 
prevail  against  the  odor  of  tobacco  and  rum  lately  in 
troduced  by  the  master  of  the  house  and  minister  of 
the  parish.  Audrey,  sitting  beside  a  table  which  had 
been  drawn  in  front  of  the  window,  turned  her  face 
aside,  and  was  away,  sense  and  soul,  out  of  the  meanly 
furnished  room  into  the  midst  of  the  great  bouquets 
of  bloom,  with  the  blue  between  and  above.  Darden, 
walking  up  and  down,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
the  tobacco  smoke  curling  like  an  aureole  around  his 
bullet  head,  glanced  toward  the  window. 

"  When  you  have  written  that  which  I  have  told 
you  to  write,  say  so,  Audrey,"  he  commanded.  "  Don't 
sit  there  staring  at  nothing  !  " 

Audrey  came  back  to  the  present  with  a  start,  took 
up  a  pen,  and  drew  the  standish  nearer.  "  '  Answer 
of  Gideon  Darden,  Minister  of  Fair  View  Parish,  in 
Virginia,  to  the  several  Queries  contained  in  my  Lord 
Bishop  of  London's  Circular  Letter  to  the  Clergy  in 
Virginia, '  "  she  read,  and  poised  her  pen  in  air. 

"  Read  out  the  questions,"  ordered  Darden,  "  and 
write  my  answer  to  each  in  the  space  beneath.  No 


94  AUDREY 

blots,  mind  you,  and  spell  not  after  the  promptings  of 
your  woman's  nature." 

Going  to  a  side  table,  he  mixed  for  himself,  in  an 
old  battered  silver  cup,  a  generous  draught  of  bombo ; 
then,  with  the  drink  in  his  hand,  walked  heavily 
across  the  uncarpeted  floor  to  his  armchair,  which 
creaked  under  his  weight  as  he  sank  into  its  leathern 
lap.  He  put  down  the  rum  and  water  with  so  un 
steady  a  hand  that  the  liquor  spilled,  and  when  he 
refilled  his  pipe  half  the  contents  of  his  tobacco  box 
showered  down  upon  his  frayed  and  ancient  and  un 
clean  coat  and  breeches.  From  the  pocket  of  the 
latter  he  now  drew  forth  a  silver  coin,  which  he 
balanced  for  a  moment  upon  his  fat  forefinger,  and 
finally  sent  spinning  across  the  table  to  Audrey. 

"  'T  is  the  dregs  of  thy  guinea,  child,  that  Paris 
and  Hugon  and  I  drank  at  the  crossroads  last  night. 
*  Burn  me,'  says  I  to  them,  '  if  that  long-legged  lass 
of  mine  shan't  have  a  drop  in  the  cup  ! '  And  says 
Hugon  "  — 

What  Hugon  said  did  not  appear,  or  was  confided 
to  the  depths  of  the  tankard  which  the  minister  raised 
to  his  lips.  Audrey  looked  at  the  splendid  shilling 
gleaming  upon  the  table  beside  her,  but  made  no  mo 
tion  toward  taking  it  into  closer  possession.  A  little 
red  had  come  into  the  clear  brown  of  her  cheeks.  She 
was  a  young  girl,  with  her  dreams  and  fancies,  and 
the  golden  guinea  would  have  made  a  dream  or  two 
come  true. 

"'Query  the  first,'"  she  read  slowly.  "'How 
long  since  you  went  to  the  plantations  as  mission 
ary?'" 

Darden,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  eyes 
uplifted  through  the  smoke  clouds  to  the  ceiling,  took 


THE  RETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON    95 

his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  for  the  better  answering  of 
his  diocesan.  "'My  Lord,  thirteen  years  come  St. 
Swithin's  day,'  "  he  dictated.  "  *  Signed,  Gideon  Dar 
den.'  Audrey,  do  not  forget  thy  capitals.  Thirteen 
years !  Lord,  Lord,  the  yea,rs,  how  they  fly !  Hast 
it  down,  Audrey  ?  " 

Audrey,  writing  in  a  slow,  fair,  clerkly  hand,  made 
her  period,  and  turned  to  the  Bishop's  second  ques 
tion  :  "  '  Had  you  any  other  church  before  you  came 
to  that  which  you  now  possess  ? ' ' 

"  '  No,  my  Lord/  "  said  the  minister  to  the  Bishop ; 
then  to  the  ceiling :  "  I  came  raw  from  the  devil  to 
this  parish.  Audrey,  hast  ever  heard  children  say 
that  Satan  comes  and  walks  behind  me  when  I  go 
through  the  forest  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Audrey,  "  but  their  eyes  are  not  good. 
You  go  hand  in  hand." 

Darden  paused  in  the  lifting  of  his  tankard.  "  Thy 
wits  are  brightening,  Audrey;  but  keep  such  obser 
vations  to  thyself.  It  is  only  the  schoolmaster  with 
whom  I  walk.  Go  on  to  the  next  question." 

The  Bishop  desired  to  know  how  long  the  minister 
addressed  had  been  inducted  into  his  living.  The 
minister  addressed,  leaning  forward,  laid  it  off  to  his 
Lordship  how  that  the  vestries  in  Virginia  did  not 
incline  to  have  ministers  inducted,  and,  being  very 
powerful,  kept  the  poor  servants  of  the  Church  upon 
uneasy  seats ;  but  that  he,  Gideon  Darden,  had  the 
love  of  his  flock,  rich  and  poor,  gentle  and  simple, 
and  that  in  the  first  year  of  his  ministry  the  gentle 
men  of  his  vestry  had  been  pleased  to  present  his 
name  to  the  Governor  for  induction.  Which  explana 
tion  made,  the  minister  drank  more  rum,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  at  the  orchard  and  at  his  neighbor's 
tobacco. 


96  AUDREY 

"You  are  only  a  woman,  and  can  hold  no  office, 
Audrey,"  he  said,  ic  but  I  will  impart  to  you  words  of 
wisdom  whose  price  is  above  rubies.  Always  agree 
with  your  vestry.  Go,  hat  in  hand,  to  each  of  its 
members  in  turn,  craving  advice  as  to  the  manage 
ment  of  your  own  affairs.  Thunder  from  the  pulpit 
against  Popery,  which  does  not  exist  in  this  colony, 
and  the  Pretender,  who  is  at  present  in  Italy.  Wrap 
a  dozen  black  sheep  of  inferior  breed  in  white  sheets 
and  set  them  arow  at  the  church  door,  but  make  it 
stuff  of  the  conscience  to  see  no  blemish  in  the  wealth 
ier  arid  more  honorable  portion  of  your  flock.  So  you 
will  thrive,  and  come  to  be  inducted  into  your  living, 
whether  in  Virginia  or  some  other  quarter  of  the  globe. 
What 's  the  worthy  Bishop's  next  demand  ?  Hasten, 
for  Hugon  is  coming  this  morning,  and  there 's  set 
tlement  to  be  made  of  a  small  bet,  and  a  hand  at 
cards." 

By  the  circular  letter  and  the  lips  of  Audrey  the 
Bishop  proceeded  to  propound  a  series  of  questions, 
which  the  minister  answered  with  portentous  glibness. 
In  the  midst  of  an  estimate  of  the  value  of  a  living  in 
a  sweet-scented  parish  a  face  looked  in  at  the  window, 
and  a  dark  and  sinewy  hand  laid  before  Audrey  a  bunch 
of  scarlet  columbine. 

"  The  rock  was  high,"  said  a  voice,  "  and  the  pool 
beneath  was  deep  and  dark.  Here  are  the  flowers 
that  waved  from  the  rock  and  threw  colored  shadows 
upon  the  pool." 

The  girl  shrank  as  from  a  sudden  and  mortal  dan 
ger.  Her  lips  trembled,  her  eyes  half  closed,  and  with 
a  hurried  and  passionate  gesture  she  rose  from  her 
chair,  thrust  from  her  the  scarlet  blooms,  and  with 
one  lithe  movement  of  her  body  put  between  her  and 


THE  RETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON    97 

the  window  the  heavy  writing  table.  The  minister 
laid  by  his  sura  in  arithmetic. 

"  Ha,  Hugon,  dog  of  a  trader !  "  he  cried.  "  Come 
in,  man.  Hast  brought  the  skins?  There's  fire 
water  upon  the  table,  and  Audrey  will  be  kind.  Stay 
to  dinner,  and  tell  us  what  lading  you  brought  down 
river,  and  of  your  kindred  in  the  forest  and  your  kin« 
dred  in  Monacan-Town." 

The  man  at  the  window  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
lifted  his  brows,  and  spread  his  hands.  So  a  captain 
of  Mousquetaires  might  have  done  ;  but  the  face  was 
dark-skinned,  the  cheek-bones  were  high,  the  black 
eyes  large,  fierce,  and  restless.  A  great  bushy  peruke, 
of  an  ancient  fashion,  and  a  coarse,  much-laced  cravat 
gave  setting  and  lent  a  touch  of  grotesqueness  and  of 
terror  to  a  countenance  wherein  the  blood  of  the  red 
man  warred  with  that  of  the  white. 

"  I  will  not  come  in  now,"  said  the  voice  again.  "  I 
am  going  in  my  boat  to  the  big  creek  to  take  twelve 
doeskins  to  an  old  man  named  Taberer.  I  will  come 
back  to  dinner.  May  I  not,  ma'm'selle  ?  " 

The  corners  of  the  lips  went  up,  and  the  thicket  of 
false  hair  swept  the  window  sill,  so  low  did  the  white 
man  bow  ;  but  the  Indian  eyes  were  watchful.  Audrey 
made  no  answer  ;  she  stood  with  her  face  turned  away 
and  her  eyes  upon  the  door,  measuring  her  chances. 
If  Darden  would  let  her  pass,  she  might  reach  the 
stairway  and  her  own  room  before  the  trader  could 
enter  the  house.  There  were  bolts  to  its  heavy  door, 
and  Hugon  might  do  as  he  had  done  before,  and  talk 
his  heart  out  upon  the  wrong  side  of  the  wood.  Thanks 
be !  lying  upon  her  bed  and  pressing  the  pillow  over 
her  ears,  she  did  not  have  to  hear. 

At  the  trader's  announcement  that  his  present  path 


98  AUDREY 

led  past  the  house,  she  ceased  her  stealthy  progress 
toward  her  own  demesne,  and  waited,  with  her  back  to 
the  window,  and  her  eyes  upon  one  long  ray  of  sun 
shine  that  struck  high  against  the  wall. 

"  I  will  come  again,"  said  the  voice  without,  and 
the  apparition  was  gone  from  the  window.  Once 
more  blue  sky  and  rosy  bloom  spanned  the  opening, 
and  the  sunshine  lay  in  a  square  upon  the  floor.  The 
girl  drew  a  long  breath,  and  turning  to  the  table  be 
gan  to  arrange  the  papers  upon  it  with  trembling 
hands. 

" 4  Sixteen  thousand  pounds  of  sweet-scented,  at  ten 
shillings  the  hundredweight ;  for  marriage  by  banns, 
five  shillings  ;  for  the  preaching  of  a  funeral  sermon, 
forty  shillings  ;  for  christening '  "  —  began  Darden 
for  the  Bishop's  information.  Audrey  took  her  pen 
and  wrote ;  but  before  the  list  of  the  minister's  per 
quisites  had  come  to  an  end  the  door  flew  open,  and 
a  woman  with  the  face  of  a  vixen  came  hurriedly 
into  the  room.  With  her  entered  the  breeze  from  the 
river,  driving  before  it  the  smoke  wreaths,  and  blow 
ing  the  papers  from  the  table  to  the  floor. 

Darden  stamped  his  foot.  "  Woman,  I  have  busi 
ness,  I  tell  ye,  —  business  with  the  Bishop  of  London  I 
I  've  kept  his  Lordship  at  the  door  this  se'nnight,  and 
if  I  give  him  not  audience  Blair  will  presently  be  down 
upon  me  with  tooth  and  nail  and  his  ancient  threat  of 
a  visitation.  Begone  and  keep  the  house !  Audrey, 
where  are  you,  child  ?" 

"  Audrey,  leave  the  room  !  "  commanded  the  woman. 
"  I  have  something  to  say  that  ?s  not  for  your  ears. 
Let  her  go,  Darden.  There  's  news,  I  tell  you." 

The  minister  glanced  at  his  wife  ;  then  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe  and  nodded  dismissal  to  Audrey. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON    99 

His  late  secretary  slipped  from  her  seat  and  left  the 
room,  not  without  alacrity. 

"  Well?  "  demanded  Darden,  when  the  sound  of  the 
quick  young  feet  had  died  away.  "  Open  your  budget, 
Deborah.  There  's  naught  in  it,  I  '11  swear,  but  some 
fal-lal  about  your  flowered  gown  or  an  old  woman's 
black  cat  and  corner  broomstick." 

Mistress  Deborah  Darden  pressed  her  thin  lips  to 
gether,  and  eyed  her  lord  and  master  with  scant  mea 
sure  of  conjugal  fondness.  "  It 's  about  some  one 
nearer  home  than  your  bishops  and  commissaries,"  she 
said.  "  Hide  passed  by  this  morning,  going  to  the 
river  field.  I  was  in  the  garden,  and  he  stopped  to 
speak  to  me.  Mr.  Haward  is  home  from  England. 
He  carne  to  the  great  house  last  night,  and  he  ordered 
his  horse  for  ten  o'clock  this  morning,  and  asked  the 
nearest  way  through  the  fields  to  the  parsonage." 

Darden  whistled,  and  put  down  his  drink  untasted. 

"  Enter  the  most  powerful  gentleman  of  my  ves 
try  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  He  '11  be  that  in  a  month's 
time.  A  member  of  the  Council,  too,  no  doubt,  and 
with  the  Governor's  ear.  He  's  a  scholar  and  fine 
gentleman.  Deborah,  clear  away  this  trash.  Lay 
out  my  books,  fetch  a  bottle  of  Canary,  and  give  me 
my  Sunday  coat.  Put  flowers  on  the  table,  and  a 
dish  of  bonchretiens,  and  get  on  your  tabby  gown. 
Make  your  curtsy  at  the  door  ;  then  leave  him  to  me." 

"  And  Audrey  ?  "  said  his  wife. 

Darden,  about  to  rise,  sank  back  again  and  sat  still, 
a  hand  upon  either  arm  of  his  chair.  "  Eh !  "  he 
said ;  then,  in  a  meditative  tone,  "  That  is  so,  — -  there 
is  Audrey." 

"  If  he  has  eyes,  he  '11  see  that  for  himself,"  retorted 
Mistress  Deborah  tartly.  "'More  to  the  purpose,' 


100  AUDREY 

he  '11  say, 6  where  is  the  money  that  I  gave  you  for 
her?'" 

"  Why,  it 's  gone,"  answered  Darden.  "  Gone  in 
maintenance,  —  gone  in  meat  and  drink  and  raiment. 
He  did  n't  want  it  buried.  Pshaw,  Deborah,  he  has 
quite  forgot  his  fine-lady  plan !  He  forgot  it  years 
ago,  I  '11  swear." 

"I'll  send  her  now  on  an  errand  to  the  Widow 
Constance's,"  said  the  mistress  of  the  house.  "  Then 
before  he  comes  again  I  '11  get  her  a  gown  "  — 

The  minister  brought  his  hand  down  upon  the  ta 
ble.  "  You  '11  do  no  such  thing  !  "  he  thundered. 
"  The  girl 's  got  to  be  here  when  he  comes.  As  for 
her  dress,  can't,  she  borrow  from  you?  The  Lord 
knows  that  though  only  the  wife  of  a  poor  parson,  you 
might  throw  for  gewgaws  with  a  bona  roba !  Go  trick 
her  out,  and  bring  her  here.  I  '11  attend  to  the  wine 
and  the  books." 

When  the  door  opened  again,  and  Audrey,  alarmed 
and  wondering,  slipped  with  the  wind  infco  the  room, 
and  stood  in  the  sunshine  before  the  minister,  that 
worthy  first  frowned,  then  laughed,  and  finally  swore. 

"  'Swounds,  Deborah,  your  hand  is  out !  If  I  had  n't 
taken  you  from  service,  I  'd  swear  that  you  were  never 
inside  a  fine  lady's  chamber.  What 's  the  matter  with 
the  girl's  skirt?" 

"  She 's  too  tail! "  cried  the  sometime  waiting  woman 
angrily.  "  As  for  that  great  stain  upon  the  silk,  the 
wine  made  it  when  you  threw  your  tankard  at  me, 
last  Sunday  but  one." 

"  That  manteau  pins  her  arms  to  her  sides,"  inter 
rupted  the  minister  calmly,  "  and  the  lace  is  dirty. 
You  've  hidden  all  her  hair  under  that  mazarine,  and 
too  many  patches  become  not  a  brown  skin.  Turn 
around,  child ! " 


THE  RETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON    101 

While  Audrey  slowly  revolved,*,  the  guardian  of  her 
fortunes,  leaning  back  in  his ;  chair,,  bent,  his  bushy 
brows  and  gazed,  not  at  the  circling  figure  in  its  taw 
dry  apparel,  but  into  the  distance.  When  she  stood 
still  and  looked  at  him  with  a  half -angry,  half-fright 
ened  face,  he  brought  his  bleared  eyes  to  bear  upon 
her,  studied  her  for  a  minute,  then  motioned  to  his 
wife. 

"  She  must  take  off  this  paltry  finery,  Deborah,"  he 
announced.  "  I  '11  have  none  of  it.  Go,  child,  and 
don  your  Cinderella  gown." 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  cried  Audrey,  with 
heaving  bosom.  "  Why  did  she  put  these  things  upon 
me,  and  why  will  she  tell  me  nothing  ?  If  Hugon  has 
hand  in  it "  — 

The  minister  made  a  gesture  of  contempt.  "  Hu 
gon  !  Hugon,  half  Monacaii  and  half  Frenchman,  is 
bartering  skins  with  a  Quaker.  Begone,  child,  and 
when  you  are  transformed  return  to  us." 

When  the  door  had  closed  he  turned  upon  his  wife. 
"  The  girl  has  been  cared  for,"  he  said.  "  She  has 
been  fed,  —  if  not  with  cates  and  dainties,  then  with 
bread  and  meat ;  she  has  been  clothed,  —  if  not  in 
silk  and  lace,  then  in  good  blue  linen  and  penistone. 
She  is  young  and  of  the  springtime,  hath  more  learn 
ing  than  had  many  a  princess  of  old  times,  is  innocent 
and  good  to  look  at.  Thou  and  the  rest  of  thy  sex 
are  fools,  Deborah,  but  wise  men  died  not  with  Solo 
mon.  It  matters  not  about  her  dress." 

Rising,  he  went  to  a  shelf  of  battered,  dog-eared 
books,  and  taking  down  an  armful  proceeded  to  strew 
the  volumes  upon  the  table.  The  red  blooms  of  the 
columbine  being  in  the  way,  he  took  up  the  bunch  and 
tossed  it  out  of  the  window.  With  the  light  thud  of 


102  AUDREY 

the  mass  upon  the  ground  eyes  of  husband  and  wife 
met. 

"  Hugon  would  many  the'  girl,"  said  the  latter, 
twisting  the  hem  of  her  apron  with  restless  fingers. 

Without  change  of  countenance,  Darden  leaned 
forward,  seized  her  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  her 
violently.  "  You  are  too  given  to  idle  and  meaning 
less  words,  Deborah,"  he  declared,  releasing  her. 
"  By  the  Lord,  one  of  these  days  I  '11  break  you  of 
the  habit  for  good  and  all !  Hugon,  and  scarlet 
flowers,  and  who  will  marry  Audrey,  that  is  yet  but  a 
child  and  useful  about  the  house,  —  what  has  all  this 
to  do  with  the  matter  in  hand,  which  is  simply  to 
make  ourselves  and  our  house  presentable  in  the  eyes 
of  my  chief  parishioner  ?  A  man  would  think  that 
thirteen  years  in  Virginia  would  teach  any  fool  the 
necessity  of  standing  well  with  a  powerful  gentleman 
such  as  this.  I  'm  no  coward.  Damn  sanctimonious 
parsons  and  my  Lord  Bishop's  Scotch  hireling !  If 
they  yelp  much  longer  at  my  heels,  I  '11  scandalize 
them  in  good  earnest !  It 's  thin  ice,  though,  —  it 's 
thin  ice ;  but  I  like  this  house  and  glebe,  and  I '  m 
going  to  live  and  die  in  them,  —  and  die  drunk,  if  I 
choose,  Mr.  Commissary  to  the  contrary!  It  's  of 
import,  Deborah,  that  my  parishioners,  being  easy 
folk,  willing  to  live  and  let  live,  should  like  me  still, 
and  that  a  majority  of  my  vestry  should  not  be  able 
to  get  on  without  me.  With  this  in  mind,  get  out  the 
wine,  dust  the  best  chair,  and  be  ready  with  thy  curtsy. 
It  will  be  time  enough  to  cry  Audrey's  banns  when 
she  is  asked  in  marriage." 

Audrey,  in  her  brown  dress,  with  the  color  yet  in 
her  cheeks,  entering  at  the  moment,  Mistress  Deborah 
attempted  no  response  to  her  husband's  adjuration. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON    103 

Darden  turned  to  the  girl.  "  I  Ve  done  with  the 
writing  for  the  nonce,  child,"  he  said,  "  and  need  you 
no  longer.  I  '11  smoke  a  pipe  and  think  of  my  sermon. 
You  're  tired ;  out  with  you  into  the  sunshine  !  Go  to 
the  wood  or  down  by  the  creek,  but  not  beyond  call, 
d'  ye  mind." 

Audrey  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  but  said  no 
thing.  There  were  many  things  in  the  world  of  other 
people  which  she  did  not  understand ;  one  thing  more 
or  less  made  no  great  difference.  But  she  did  under 
stand  the  sunlit  roof,  the  twilight  halls,  the  patterned 
floor  of  the  forest.  Blossoms  drifting  down,  fleeing 
shadows,  voices  of  wind  and  water,  and  all  murmurous 
elfin  life  spoke  to  her.  They  spoke  the  language  of 
her  land ;  when  she  stepped  out  of  the  door  into  the 
air  and  faced  the  portals  of  her  world,  they  called  to 
her  to  come.  Lithe  and  slight  and  light  of  foot,  she 
answered  to  their  piping.  The  orchard  through  which 
she  ran  was  fair  with  its  rosy  trees,  like  gayly  dressed 
curtsying  dames ;  the  slow,  clear  creek  that  held  the 
double  of  the  sky  enticed,  but  she  passed  it  by. 
Straight  as  an  arrow  she  pierced  to  the  heart  of  the 
wood  that  lay  to  the  north.  Thorn  and  bramble, 
branch  of  bloom  and  entangling  vine,  stayed  her  not ; 
long  since  she  had  found  or  had  made  for  herself  a 
path  to  the  centre  of  the  labyrinth.  Here  was  a  beech- 
tree,  older  by  many  a  year  than  the  young  wood,  —  a 
solitary  tree  spared  by  the  axe  what  time  its  mates 
had  fallen.  Tall  and  silver-gray  the  column  of  the 
trunk  rose  to  meet  wide  branches  and  the  green  lace- 
work  of  tender  leaves.  The  earth  beneath  was  clean 
swept,  and  carpeted  with  the  leaves  of  last  year ;  a 
wide,  dry,  pale  brown  enchanted  ring,  against  whose 
borders  pressed  the  riot  of  the  forest.  Vine  and  bush, 


104  AUDREY 

flower  and  fern,  could  not  enter ;  but  Audrey  came 
and  laid  herself  down  upon  a  cool  and  shady  bed. 

By  human  measurement  the  house  that  she  had  left 
was  hard  by ;  even  from  under  the  beech-tree  Mistress 
Deborah's  thin  call  could  draw  her  back  to  the  walls 
which  sheltered  her,  which  she  had  been  taught  to  call 
her  home.  But  it  was  not  her  soul's  home,  and  now 
the  veil  of  the  kindly  woods  withdrew  it  league  on 
league,  shut  it  out,  made  it  as  if  it  had  never  been. 
From  the  charmed  ring  beneath  the  beech-tree  she 
took  possession  of  her  world ;  for  her  the  wind  mur 
mured,  the  birds  sang,  insects  hummed  or  shrilled,  the 
green  saplings  nodded  their  heads.  Flowers,  and  the 
bedded  moss,  and  the  little  stream  that  leaped  from  a 
precipice  of  three  feet  into  the  calm  of  a  hand-deep 
pool  spoke  to  her.  She  was  happy.  Gone  was  the 
house  and  its  inmates ;  gone  Paris  the  schoolmaster, 
who  had  taught  her  to  write,  and  whose  hand  touching 
hers  in  guidance  made  her  sick  and  cold ;  gone  Hugon 
the  trader,  whom  she  feared  and  hated.  Here  were 
no  toil,  no  annoy,  no  frightened  flutterings  of  the 
heart ;  she  had  passed  the  frontier,  and  was  safe  in 
her  own  land. 

She  pressed  her  cheek  against  the  dead  leaves,  and, 
with  the  smell  of  the  earth  in  her  nostrils,  looked  side 
ways  with  half-closed  eyes  and  made  a  radiant  mist  of 
the  forest  round  about.  A  drowsy  warmth  was  in  the 
air ;  the  birds  sang  far  away ;  through  a  rift  in  the 
foliage  a  sunbeam  came  and  rested  beside  her  like  a 
gilded  snake. 

For  a  time,  wrapped  in  the  warmth  and  the  green 
and  gold  mist,  she  lay  as  quiet  as  the  sunbeam ;  of 
the  earth  earthy,  in  pact  with  the  mould  beneath 
the  leaves,  with  the  slowly  crescent  trunks,  brown  or 


THE  RETURN  OF  MONSIEUR  JEAN  HUGON    105 

silver-gray,  with  moss  and  lichened  rock,  and  with  all 
life  that  basked  or  crept  or  flew.  At  last,  however, 
the  mind  aroused,  and  she  opened  her  eyes,  saw,  and 
thought  of  what  she  saw.  It  was  pleasant  in  the 
forest.  She  watched  the  flash  of  a  bird,  as  blue  as 
the  sky,  from  limb  to  limb ;  she  listened  to  the  elfin 
waterfall ;  she  drew  herself  with  hand  and  arm  across 
the  leaves  to  the  edge  of  the  pale  brown  ring,  plucked 
a  honeysuckle  bough  and  brought  it  back  to  the  silver 
column  of  the  beech ;  and  lastly,  glancing  up  from 
the  rosy  sprig  within  her  hand,  she  saw  a  man  coming 
toward  her,  down  the  path  that  she  had  thought  hid 
den,  holding  his  arm  before  him  for  shield  against 
brier  and  branch,  and  looking  curiously  about  him  as 
for  a  thing  which  he  had  come  out  to  seek. 


CHAPTER   VIH 

UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE 

IN  the  moment  in  which  she  sprang  to  her  feet  she 
saw  that  it  was  not  Hugon,  and  her  heart  grew  calm 
again.  In  her  torn  gown,  with  her  brown  hair  loosed 
from  its  fastenings,  and  falling  over  her  shoulders  in 
heavy  waves  whose  crests  caught  the  sunlight,  she 
stood  against  the  tree  beneath  which  she  had  lain, 
gazed  with  wide-open  eyes  at  the  intruder,  and  guessed 
from  his  fine  coat  and  the  sparkling  toy  looping  his 
hat  that  he  was  a  gentleman.  She  knew  gentlemen 
when  she  saw  them  :  on  a  time  one  had  cursed  her 
for  scurrying  like  a  partridge  across  the  road  before 
his  horse,  making  the  beast  come  nigh  to  unseating 
him ;  another,  coming  upon  her  and  the  Widow  Con 
stance's  Barbara  gathering  fagots  in  the  November 
woods,  had  tossed  to  each  a  sixpence  ;  a  third,  on 
vestry  business  with  the  minister,  had  touched  her  be 
neath  the  chin,  and  sworn  that  an  she  were  not  so 
brown  she  were  fair ;  a  fourth,  lying  hidden  upon  the 
bank  of  the  creek,  had  caught  her  boat  head  as  she 
pushed  it  into  the  reeds,  and  had  tried  to  kiss  her. 
They  had  certain  ways,  had  gentlemen,  but  she  knew 
no  great  harm  of  them.  There  was  one,  now — but 
he  would  be  like  a  prince.  When  at  eventide  the  sky 
was  piled  with  pale  towering  clouds,  and  she  looked, 
as  she  often  looked,  down  the  river,  toward  the  bay 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE  107 

and  the  sea  beyond,  she  always  saw  this  prince  that 
she  had  woven  —  warp  of  memory,  woof  of  dreams 
—  stand  erect  in  the  pearly  light.  There  was  a  gen 
tleman  indeed ! 

As  to  the  possessor  of  the  title  now  slowly  and 
steadily  making  his  way  toward  her  she  was  in  a  mere 
state  of  wonder.  It  was  not  possible  that  he  had  lost 
his  way ;  but  if  so,  she  was  sorry  that,  in  losing  it,  he 
had  found  the  slender  zigzag  of  her  path.  A  trust 
ful  child,  —  save  where  Hugon  was  concerned,  —  she 
was  not  in  the  least  afraid,  and  being  of  a  friendly 
mind  looked  at  the  approaching  figure  with  shy  kind 
liness,  and  thought  that  he  must  have  come  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  country.  She  thought  that  had 
she  ever  seen  him  before  she  would  have  remem 
bered  it. 

Upon  the  outskirts  of  the  ring,  clear  of  the  close 
embrace  of  flowering  bush  and  spreading  vine.  Ha- 
ward  paused,  and  looked  with  smiling  eyes  at  this  girl 
of  the  woods,  this  forest  creature  that,  springing  from 
the  earth,  had  set  its  back  against  the  tree. 

"Tarry  awhile,''  he  said.  "Slip  not  yet  within  the 
bark.  Had  I  known,  I  should  have  brought  oblation 
of  milk  and  honey." 

"  This  is  the  thicket  between  Fair  View  and  the 
glebe  lands,"  said  Audrey,  who  knew  not  what  bark 
of  tree  and  milk  and  honey  had  to  do  with  the  case. 
"  Over  yonder,  sir,  is  the  road  to  the  great  house. 
This  path  ends  here  ;  you  must  go  back  to  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  then  turn  to  the  south  "  — 

"  I  have  not  lost  my  way,"  answered  Haward,  still 
smiling.  "  It  is  pleasant  here  in  the  shade,  after  the 
warmth  of  the  open.  May  I  not  sit  down  upon  the 
leaves  and  talk  to  you  for  a  while  ?  I  came  out  to 
find  you,  you  know." 


108  AUDREY 

As  he  spoke,  and  without  waiting  for  the  permis 
sion  which  he  asked,  he  crossed  the  rustling  leaves, 
and  threw  himself  down  upon  the  earth  between  two 
branching  roots.  Her  skirt  brushed  his  knee;  with 
a  movement  quick  and  shy  she  put  more  distance  be 
tween  them,  then  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  wide, 
grave  eyes.  "  Why  do  you  say  that  you  came  here  to 
find  me  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  do  not  know  you." 

Haward  laughed,  nursing  his  knee  and  looking 
about  him.  "  Let  that  pass  for  a  moment.  You 
have  the  prettiest  woodland  parlor,  child!  Tell  me, 
do  they  treat  you  well  over  there  ?  "  with  a  jerk  of 
his  thumb  toward  the  glebe  house.  "  Madam  the 
shrew  and  his  reverence  the  bully,  are  they  kind  to 
you  ?  Though  they  let  you  go  like  a  beggar  maid," 
—  he  glanced  kindly  enough  at  her  bare  feet  and 
torn  gown,  —  "  yet  they  starve  you  not,  nor  beat  you, 
nor  deny  you  aught  in  reason  ?  " 

Audrey  drew  herself  up.  She  had  a  proper  pride, 
and  she  chose  to  forget  for  this  occasion  a  bruise  upon 
her  arm  and  the  thrusting  upon  her  of  Hugon's  com 
pany.  "  I  do  not  know  who  you  are,  sir,  that  ask  me 
such  questions,"  she  said  sedately.  "I  have  food 
and  shelter  and  —  and  —  kindness.  And  I  go  bare 
foot  only  of  week  days  "  — 

It  was  a  bra.ve  beginning,  but  of  a  sudden  she 
found  it  hard  to  go  on.  She  felt  his  eyes  upon  her 
and  knew  that  he  was  unconvinced,  and  into  her  own 
eyes  came  the  large  tears.  They  did  not  fall,  but 
through  them  she  saw  the  forest  swim  in  green  and 
gold.  "  I  have  no  father  or  mother,"  she  said,  "  and 
no  brother  or  sister.  In  all  the  world  there  is  no  one 
that  is  kin  to  me." 

Her  voice,  that  was  low  and  full  and  apt  to  fall  into 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE  109 

minor  cadences,  died  away,  and  she  stood  with  her  face 
raised  and  slightly  turned  from  the  gentleman  who 
lay  at  her  feet,  stretched  out  upon  the  sere  beech 
leaves.  He  did  not  seem  inclined  to  speech,  and  for 
a  time  the  little  brook  and  the  birds  and  the  wind  in 
the  trees  sang  undisturbed. 

"  These  woods  are  very  beautiful,"  said  Ha  ward  at 
last,  with  his  gaze  upon  her,  "  but  if  the  land  were 
less  level  it  were  more  to  my  taste.  Now,  if  this  plain 
were  a  little  valley  couched  among  the  hills,  if  to  the 
westward  rose  dark  blue  mountains  like  a  rampart,  if 
the  runlet  yonder  were  broad  and  clear,  if  this  beech 
were  a  sugar-tree  "  — 

He  broke  off,  content  to  see  her  eyes  dilate,  her 
bosom  rise  and  fall,  her  hand  go  trembling  for  sup 
port  to  the  column  of  the  beech. 

"  Oh,  the  mountains  !  "  she  cried.  "  When  the  mist 
lifted,  when  the  cloud  rested,  when  the  sky  was  red 
behind  them !  Oh,  the  clear  stream,  and  the  sugar- 
tree,  and  the  cabin  !  Who  are  you  ?  How  did  you 
know  about  these  things  ?  Were  you  —  were  you 
there?" 

She  turned  upon  him,  with  her  soul  in  her  eyes. 
As  for  him,  lying  at  length  upon  the  ground,  he 
locked  his  hands  beneath  his  head  and  began  to  sing, 
though  scarce  above  his  breath.  He  sang  the  song  of 
Amiens :  — 

"  Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me," 

When  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  stanza  he  half 
rose,  and  turned  toward  the  mute  and  breathless 
figure  leaning  against  the  beech-tree.  For  her  the 
years  had  rolled  back :  one  moment  she  stood  upon 
the  doorstep  of  the  cabin,  and  the  air  was  filled  with 


110  AUDREY 

the  trampling  of  horses,  with  quick  laughter,  whis 
tling,  singing,  and  the  call  of  a  trumpet ;  the  next  she 
ran,  in  night-time  and  in  terror,  between  rows  of 
rustling  corn,  felt  again  the  clasp  of  her  pursuer, 
heard  at  her  ear  the  comfort  of  his  voice.  A  film 
came  between  her  eyes  and  the  man  at  whom  she 
stared,  and  her  heart  grew  cold. 

"  Audrey,"  said  Haward,  "  come  here,  child." 
The  blood  returned  to  her  heart,  her  vision  cleared, 
and  her  arm  fell  from  its  clasp  upon  the  tree.  The 
bark  opened  not ;  the  hamadryad  had  lost  the  spell. 
When  at  his  repeated  command  she  crossed  to  him, 
she  went  as  the  trusting,  dumbly  loving,  dumbly 
grateful  child  whose  life  he  had  saved,  and  whose 
comforter,  protector,  and  guardian  he  had  been. 
When  he  took  her  hands  in  his  she  was  glad  to  feel 
them  there  again,  and  she  had  no  blushes  ready  when 
he  kissed  her  upon  the  forehead.  It  was  sweet  to  her 
who  hungered  for  affection,  who  long  ago  had  set  his 
image  up,  loving  him  purely  as  a  sovereign  spirit  or 
as  a  dear  and  great  elder  brother,  to  hear  him  call 
her  again  "  little  maid ;  "  tell  her  that  she  had  not 
changed  save  in  height;  ask  her  if  she  remembered 
this  or  that  adventure,  what  time  they  had  strayed  in 
the  woods  together.  Remember !  When  at  last,  be 
neath  his  admirable  management,  the  wonder  and 
the  shyness  melted  away,  and  she  found  her  tongue, 
memories  came  in  a  torrent.  The  hilltop,  the  deep 
woods  and  the  giant  trees,  the  house  he  had  built  for 
her  out  of  stones  and  moss,  the  grapes  they  had 
gathered,  the  fish  they  had  caught,  the  thunderstorm 
when  he  had  snatched  her  out  of  the  path  of  a  stricken 
and  falling  pine,  an  alarm  of  Indians,  an  alarm  of 
wolves,  finally  the  first  faint  sounds  of  the  returning 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE  111 

expedition,  the  distant  trumpet  note,  the  nearer  ap 
proach,  the  bursting  again  into  the  valley  of  the 
Governor  and  his  party,  the  journey  from  that  loved 
spot  to  Williamsburgh,  —  all  sights  and  sounds, 
thoughts  and  emotions,  of  that  time,  fast  held  through 
lonely  years,  came  at  her  call,  and  passed  again  in 
procession  before  them.  Haward,  first  amazed,  then 
touched,  reached  at  length  the  conclusion  that  the 
years  of  her  residence  beneath  the  minister's  roof 
could  not  have  been  happy;  that  she  must  always 
have  put  from  her  with  shuddering  and  horror  the 
memory  of  the  night  which  orphaned  her ;  but  that 
she  had  passionately  nursed,  cherished,  and  loved  all 
that  she  had  of  sweet  and  dear,  and  that  this  all  was 
the  memory  of  her  childhood  in  the  valley,  and  of  that 
brief  season  when  he  had  been  her  savior,  protector, 
friend,  and  playmate.  He  learned  also  —  for  she  was 
too  simple  and  too  glad  either  to  withhold  the  in 
formation  or  to  know  that  she  had  given  it  —  that  in 
her  girlish  and  innocent  imaginings  she  had  made  of 
him  a  fairy  knight,  clothing  him  in  a  panoply  of 
power,  mercy,  and  tenderness,  and  setting  him  on 
high,  so  high  that  his  very  heel  was  above  the  heads 
of  the  mortals  within  her  ken. 

Keen  enough  in  his  perceptions,  he  was  able  to 
recognize  that  here  was  a  pure  and  imaginative  spirit, 
strongly  yearning  after  ideal  strength,  beauty,  and 
goodness.  Given  such  a  spirit,  it  was  not  unnatural 
that,  turning  from  sordid  or  unhappy  surroundings  as 
a  flower  turns  from  shadow  to  the  full  face  of  the  sun, 
she  should  have  taken  a  memory  of  valiant  deeds, 
kind  words,  and  a  protecting  arm,  and  have  created 
out  of  these  a  man  after  her  own  heart,  endowing  him 
with  all  heroic  attributes ;  at  one  and  the  same  time 


112  AUDREY 

sending  him  out  into  the  world,  a  knight-errant  with 
out  fear  and  without  reproach,  and  keeping  him  by 
her  side  —  the  side  of  a  child  —  in  her  own  private 
wonderland.  He  saw  that  she  had  done  this,  and  he 
was  ashamed.  He  did  not  tell  her  that  that  eleven- 
years-distant  fortnight  was  to  him  but  a  half-remem 
bered  incident  of  a  crowded  life,  and  that  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  she  herself  had  been  forgotten.  For 
one  thing,  it  would  have  hurt  her;  for  another,  he 
saw  no  reason  why  he  should  tell  her.  Upon  occasion 
he  could  be  as  ruthless  as  a  stone ;  if  he  were  so  now 
he  knew  it  not,  but  in  deceiving  her  deceived  himself. 
Man  of  a  world  that  was  corrupt  enough,  he  was  of 
course  quiet]y  assured  that  he  could  bend  this  wood 
land  creature  —  half  child,  half  dryad  —  to  the  form 
of  his  bidding.  To  do  so  was  in  his  power,  but  not 
his  pleasure.  He  meant  to  leave  her  as  she  was  ;  to 
accept  the  adoration  of  the  child,  but  to  attempt  no 
awakening  of  the  woman.  The  girl  was  of  the  moun 
tains,  and  their  higher,  colder,  purer  air ;  though  he 
had  brought  her  body  thence,  he  would  not  have  her 
spirit  leave  the  climbing  earth,  the  dreamlike  summits, 
for  the  hot  and  dusty  plain.  The  plain,  God  knew, 
had  dwellers  enough. 

She  was  a  thing  of  wild  and  sylvan  grace,  and  there 
was  fulfillment  in  a  dark  beauty  all  her  own  of  the 
promise  she  had  given  as  a  child.  About  her  was  a 
pathos,  too,  —  the  pathos  of  the  flower  taken  from  its 
proper  soil,  and  drooping  in  earth  which  nourished  it 
not.  Haward,  looking  at  her,  watching  the  sensitive, 
mobile  lips,  reading  in  the  dark  eyes,  beneath  the 
felicity  of  the  present,  a  hint  and  prophecy  of  woe,  felt 
for  her  a  pity  so  real  and  great  that  for  the  moment 
his  heart  ached  as  for  some  sorrow  of  his  own.  She 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE  113 

was  only  a  young  girl,  poor  and  helpless,  born  of  poor 
and  helpless  parents  dead  long  ago.  There  was  in 
her  veins  no  gentle  blood ;  she  had  none  of  the  world's 
goods ;  her  gown  was  torn,  her  feet  went  bare.  She 
had  youth,  but  not  its  heritage  of  gladness :  beauty, 
but  none  to  see  it ;  a  nature  that  reached  toward  light 
and  height,  and  for  its  home  the  house  which  he  had 
lately  left.  He  was  a  man  older  by  many  years  than 
the  girl  beside  him,  knowing  good  and  evil ;  by  in 
stinct  preferring  the  former,  but  at  times  stooping, 
open-eyed,  to  that  degree  of  the  latter  which  a  lax  and 
gay  world  held  to  be  not  incompatible  with  a  conven 
tion  somewhat  misnamed  "  the  honor  of  a  gentleman." 
Now,  beneath  the  beech-tree  in  the  forest  which 
touched  upon  one  side  the  glebe,  upon  the  other  his 
own  lands,  he  chose  at  this  time  the  good;  said  to 
himself,  and  believed  the  thing  he  said,  that  in  word 
and  in  deed  he  would  prove  himself  her  friend. 

Putting  out  his  hand  he  drew  her  down  upon  the 
leaves ;  and  she  sat  beside  him,  still  and  happy,  ready 
to  answer  him  when  he  asked  her  this  or  that,  readier 
yet  to  sit  in  blissful,  dreamy  silence.  She  was  as 
pure  as  the  flower  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  and 
most  innocent  in  her  imaginings.  This  was  a  very 
perfect  knight,  a  great  gentleman,  good  and  pitiful, 
that  had  saved  her  from  the  Indians  when  she  was  a 
little  girl,  and  had  been  kind  to  her,  —  ah,  so  kind ! 
In  that  dreadful  night  when  she  had  lost  father  and 
mother  and  brother  and  sister,  when  in  the  darkness 
her  childish  heart  was  a  stone  for  terror,  he  had  come, 
like  God,  from  the  mountains,  and  straightway  she 
was  safe.  Now  into  her  woods,  from  over  the  sea,  he 
had  come  again,  and  at  once  the  load  upon  her  heart, 
the  dull  longing  and  misery,  the  fear  of  Hugon,  were 


114  AUDREY 

lifted.  The  chaplet  which  she  laid  at  his  feet  was  not 
loosely  woven  of  gay-colored  flowers,  but  was  compact 
of  austerer  blooms  of  gratitude,  reverence,  and  that 
love  which  is  only  a  longing  to  serve.  The  glamour 
was  at  hand,  the  enchanted  light  which  breaks  not 
from  the  east  or  the  west  or  the  north  or  the  south 
was  upon  its  way ;  but  she  knew  it  not,  and  she  was 
happy  in  her  ignorance. 

"  I  am  tired  of  the  city,"  he  said.  "  Now  I  shall 
stay  in  Virginia.  A  longing  for  the  river  and  the 
marshes  and  the  house  where  I  was  born  came  upon 
me"  — 

"  I  know,"  she  answered.  "  When  I  shut  my  eyes 
I  see  the  cabin  in  the  valley,  and  when  I  dream  it  is 
of  things  which  happen  in  a  mountainous  country." 

"  I  am  alone  in  the  great  house,"  he  continued, 
"  and  the  floors  echo  somewhat  loudly.  The  garden, 
too ;  beside  myself  there  is  no  one  to  smell  the  roses 
or  to  walk  in  the  moonlight.  I  had  forgotten  the 
isolation  of  these  great  plantations.  Each  is  a  pro 
vince  and  a  despotism.  If  the  despot  has  neither  kith 
nor  kin,  has  not  yet  made  friends,  and  cares  not  to 
draw  company  from  the  quarters,  he  is  lonely.  They 
say  that  there  are  ladies  in  Virginia  whose  charms 
well-nigh  outweigh  their  dowries  of  sweet-scented  and 
Oronoko.  I  will  wed  such  an  one,  and  have  laughter 
in  my  garden,  and  other  footsteps  than  my  own  in  my 
house." 

"There  are  beautiful  ladies  in  these  parts,"  said 
Audrey.  "  There  is  the  one  that  gave  me  the  guinea 
for  my  running  yesterday.  She  was  so  very  fair.  I 
wished  with  all  my  heart  that  I  were  like  her." 

"  She  is  my  friend,"  said  Haward  slowly,  "  and  her 
mind  is  as  fair  as  her  face.  I  will  tell  her  your 
story." 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE  115 

The  gilded  streak  upon  the  earth  beneath  the  beech 
had  crept  away,  but  over  the  ferns  and  weeds  and 
flowering  bushes  between  the  slight  trees  without  the 
ring  the  sunshine  gloated.  The  blue  of  the  sky  was 
wonderful,  and  in  the  silence  Haward  and  Audrey 
heard  the  wind  whisper  in  the  treetops.  A  dove 
moaned,  and  a  hare  ran  past. 

"  It  was  I  who  brought  you  from  the  mountains  and 
placed  you  here,"  said  Haward  at  last.  "  I  thought  it 
for  the  best,  and  that  when  I  sailed  away  I  left  you 
to  a  safe  and  happy  life.  It  seems  that  I  was  mis 
taken.  But  now  that  I  am  at  home  again,  child,  I 
wish  you  to  look  upon  me,  who  am  so  much  your  elder, 
as  your  guardian  and  protector  still.  If  there  is  any 
thing  which  you  lack,  if  you  are  misused,  are  in  need 
of  help,  why,  think  that  your  troubles  are  the  Indians 
again,  little  maid,  and  turn  to  me  once  more  for 
help !  " 

Having  spoken  honestly  and  well  and  very  unwisely, 
he  looked  at  his  watch  and  said  that  it  was  late.  When 
he  rose  to  his  feet  Audrey  did  not  move,  and  when  he 
looked  down  upon  her  he  saw  that  her  eyes,  that  had 
been  wet,  were  overflowing.  He  put  out  his  hand,  and 
she  took  it  and  touched  it  with  her  lips ;  then,  because 
he  said  that  he  had  not  meant  to  set  her  crying,  she 
smiled,  and  with  her  own  hand  dashed  away  the  tears. 

"  When  I  ride  this  way  I  shall  always  stop  at  the 
minister's  house,"  said  Haward,  "when,  if  there  is 
aught  which  you  need  or  wish,  you  must  tell  me  of  it. 
Think  of  me  as  your  friend,  child." 

He  laid  his  hand  lightly  and  caressingly  upon  her 
head.  The  ruffles  at  his  wrist,  soft,  fine,  and  per 
fumed,  brushed  her  forehead  and  her  eyes.  "The 
path  through  your  labyrinth  to  its  beechen  heart  was 


116  AUDREY 

hard  to  find,"  lie  continued,  "  but  I  can  easily  retrace 
it.  No,  trouble  not  yourself,  child.  Stay  for  a  time 
where  you  are.  I  wish  to  speak  to  the  minister 
alone." 

His  hand  was  lifted.  Audrey  felt  rather  than  saw 
him  go.  Only  a  few  feet,  and  the  dogwood  stars,  the 
purple  mist  of  the  Judas-tree,  the  white  fragrance  of 
a  wild  cherry,  came  like  a  painted  arras  between  them. 
For  a  time  she  could  hear  the  movement  of  the  branches 
as  he  put  them  aside ;  but  presently  this  too  ceased, 
and  the  place  was  left  to  her  and  to  all  the  life  that 
called  it  home. 

It  was  the  same  wood,  surely,  into  which  she  had 
run  two  hours  before,  and  yet  —  and  yet  —  When 
her  teaio  were  spent,  and  she  stood  up,  leaning,  with 
her  loosened  hair  and  her  gown  that  was  the  color  of 
oak  bark,  against  the  beech-tree,  she  looked  about  her 
and  wondered.  The  wonder  did  not  last,  for  she  found 
an  explanation. 

"  It  has  been  blessed,"  said  Audrey,  with  all  rever 
ence  and  simplicity,  "  and  that  is  why  the  light  is  so 
different." 


CHAPTER  IX 

MACLEAN  TO   THE  RESCUE 

SATJNDERSON,  the  overseer,  having  laboriously  writ 
ten  and  signed  a  pass,  laid  down  the  quill,  wiped  his 
inky  forefinger  upon  his  sleeve,  and  gave  the  paper  to 
the  storekeeper,  who  sat  idly  by. 

"  Ye  '11  remember  that  the  store  chiefly  lacks  in 
broadcloth  of  Witney,  frieze  and  camlet,  and*  in  wo 
men's  shoes,  both  silk  and  callimanco.  And  dinna 
forget  to  trade  with  Alick  Ker  for  three  small  swords, 
a  chafing  dish,  and  a  dozen  mourning  and  hand-and- 
heart  rings.  See  that  you  have  the  skins'  worth. 
Alick  's  an  awfu'  man  to  get  the  upper  hand  of." 

"  I  'm  thinking  a  MacLean  should  have  small  diffi 
culty  with  a  Ker,"  said  the  storekeeper  dryly.  "  What 
I  'in  wanting  to  know  is  why  I  am  saddled  with  the 
company  of  Monsieur  Jean  Hugon."  He  jerked  his 
thumb  toward  the  figure  of  the  trader  standing  within 
the  doorway.  "  I  do  not  like  the  gentleman,  and  I  'd 
rather  trudge  it  to  Williamsburgh  alone." 

"  Ye  ken  not  the  value  of  the  skins,  nor  how  to  show 
them  off,"  answered  the  other.  "  Wherefore,  for  the 
consideration  of  a  measure  of  rum,  he  's  engaged  to 
help  you  in  the  trading.  As  for  his  being  half  Indian, 
Gude  guide  us !  It 's  been  told  me  that  no  so  many 
centuries  ago  the  Highlandmen  painted  their  bodies 
and  went  into  battle  without  taking  advantage  even  of 


118  AUDREY 

feathers  and  silk  grass.  One  half  of  him  is  of  the 
French  nobeelity ;  he  told  me  as  much  himself.  And 
the  best  of  ye  —  sic  as  the  Campbells  —  are  no  better 
than  that." 

He  looked  at  MacLean  with  a  caustic  smile.  The 
latter  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  So  long  as  you  tie 
him  neck  and  heels  with  a  Campbell  I  am  content," 
he  answered.  "  Are  you  going  ?  I  '11  just  bar  the 
windows  and  lock  the  door,  and  then  I  '11  be  off  with 
yonder  copper  cadet  of  a  French  house.  Good-day  to 
you.  I  '11  be  back  to-night." 

"  Ye  'd.  better,"  said  the  overseer,  with  another 
widening  of  his  thin  lips.  "  For  myself,  I  bear  ye  no 
ill-will ;  for  my  grandmither  —  rest  her  soul !  —  came 
frae  the  north,  and  I  aye  thought  a  Stewart  better  be 
came  the  throne  than  a  foreign-speaking  body  frae 
Hanover.  But  if  the  store  is  not  open  the  morn  I  '11 
raise  hue  and  cry,  and  that  without  wasting  time.  I  've 
been  told  ye  're  great  huntsmen  in  the  Highlands ;  if 
ye  choose  to  turn  red  deer  yourself,  I  '11  give  ye  a 
chase,  and  track  ye  down,  man,  and  track  ye  down" 

MacLean  half  turned  from  the  window.  "  I  have 
hunted  the  red  deer,"  he  said,  "  in  the  land  where  I 
was  born,  and  which  I  shall  see  no  more,  and  I  have 
been  myself  hunted  in  the  land  where  I  shall  die.  I 
have  run  until  I  have  fallen,  and  I  have  felt  the  teeth 
of  the  dogs.  Were  God  to  send  a  miracle  —  which  he 
will  not  do  —  and  I  were  to  go  back  to  the  glen  and 
the  crag  and  the  deep  birch  woods,  I  suppose  that  I 
would  hunt  again,  would  drive  the  stag  to  bay,  hollo 
ing  to  my  hounds,  and  thinking  the  sound  of  the  horns 
sweet  music  in  my  ears.  It  is  the  way  of  the  earth. 
Hunter  and  hunted,  we  make  the  world  and  the  pity 
of  it." 


MACLEAN  TO  THE  RESCUE  119 

Setting  to  work  again,  he  pushed  to  the  heavy  shut 
ters.  "  You  '11  find  them  open  in  the  morning,"  he 
said,  "  and  find  me  selling,  —  selling  clothing  that  I 
may  not  wear,  wine  that  I  may  not  drink,  powder  and 
shot  that  I  may  not  spend,  swords  that  I  may  not  use ; 
and  giving,  —  giving  pride,  manhood,  honor,  heart's 
blood"  — 

He  broke  off,  shot  to  the  bar  across  the  shutters,  and 
betook  himself  in  silence  to  the  other  window,  where 
presently  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  The  sound 
was  harsh  even  to  savagery.  "  Go  your  ways,  Saun- 
derson,"  he  said.  "  I  've  tried  the  bars  of  the  cage ; 
they  're  too  strong.  Stop  on  your  morning  round,  and 
I  '11  give  account  of  my  trading." 

The  overseer  gone,  the  windows  barred,  and  the 
heavy  door  shut  and  locked  behind  him,  MacLean 
paused  upon  the  doorstep  to  look  down  upon  his  ap 
pointed  companion.  The  trader,  half  sitting,  half  re 
clining  upon  a  log,  was  striking  at  something  with  the 
point  of  his  hunting-knife,  lightly,  delicately,  and  often. 
The  something  was  a  lizard,  about  which,  as  it  lay  in 
the  sunshine  upon  the  log,  he  had  wrought  a  pen  of 
leafy  twigs.  The  creature,  darting  for  liberty  this  way 
and  that,  was  met  at  every  turn  by  the  steel,  and  at 
every  turn  suffered  a  new  wound.  MacLean  looked ; 
then  bent  over  and  with  a  heavy  stick  struck  the  thing 
out  of  its  pain. 

"  There  's  a  time  to  work  and  a  time  to  play,  Hugon," 
he  said  coolly.  "  Playtime  's  over  now.  The  sun  is 
high,  and  Isaac  and  the  oxen  must  have  the  skins  well- 
nigh  to  Williamsburgh.  Up  with  you  !  " 

Hugon  rose  to  his  feet,  slid  his  knife  into  its  sheath, 
and  announced  in  good  enough  English  that  he  was 
ready.  He  had  youth,  the  slender,  hardy,  perfectly 


120  AUDREY 

moulded  figure  of  the  Indian,  a  coloring  and  a  coun 
tenance  that  were  not  of  the  white  and  not  of  the 
brown.  When  he  went  a-trading  up  the  river,  past 
the  thickly  settled  country,  past  the  falls,  past  the 
French  town  which  his  Huguenot  father  had  helped 
to  build,  into  the  deep  woods  and  to  the  Indian  village 
whence  had  strayed  his  mother,  he  wore  the  clothing 
that  became  the  woods,  —  beaded  moccasins,  fringed 
leggings,  hunting-shirt  of  deerskin,  cap  of  fur,  — 
looked  his  part  and  played  it  well.  When  he  came 
back  to  an  English  country,  to  wharves  and  stores,  to 
halls  and  porches  of  great  houses  and  parlors  of  lesser 
ones,  to  the  streets  and  ordinaries  of  Williamsburgh, 
he  pulled  on  jack  boots,  shrugged  himself  into  a  coat 
with  silver  buttons,  stuck  lace  of  a  so-so  quality  at 
neck  and  wrists,  wore  a  cocked  hat  and  a  Blenheim 
wig,  and  became  a  figure  alike  grotesque  and  terrible. 
Two  thirds  of  the  time  his  business  caused  him  to  be 
in  the  forests  that  were  far  away ;  but  when  he  re 
turned  to  civilization,  to  stare  it  in  the  face  and  brag 
within  himself,  "  I  am  lot  and  part  of  what  I  see ! " 
he  dwelt  at  the  crossroads  ordinary,  drank  and  gamed 
with  Paris  the  schoolmaster  and  Darden  the  minister, 
and  dreamed  (at  times)  of  Darden's  Audrey. 

The  miles  to  Wiliiamsburgh  were  long  and  sunny, 
with  the  dust  thick  beneath  the  feet.  Warm  and 
heavy,  the  scented  spring  possessed  the  land.  It  was 
a  day  for  drowsing  in  the  shade :  for  them  who  must 
needs  walk  in  the  sunshine,  languor  of  thought  over 
took  them,  and  sparsity  of  speech.  They  walked  rap 
idly,  step  with  step,  their  two  lean  and  sinewy  bodies 
casting  the  same  length  of  shadow;  but  they  kept 
their  eyes  upon  the  long  glare  of  white  dust,  and  told 
not  their  dreams.  At  a  point  in  the  road  where  the 


MACLEAN  TO  THE  RESCUE  121 

storekeeper  saw  only  confused  marks  and  a  powdering 
of  dust  upon  the  roadside  bushes,  the  half-breed 
announced  that  there  had  been  that  morning  a  scuffle 
in  a  gang  of  negroes;  that  a  small  man  had  been 
thrown  heavily  to  the  earth,  and  a  large  man  had 
made  off  across  a  low  ditch  into  the  woods ;  that  the 
overseer  had  parted  the  combatants,  and  that  some 
one's  back  had  bled.  No  sooner  was  this  piece  of 
clairvoyance  aired  than  he  was  vexed  that  he  had 
shown  a  hall-mark  of  the  savage,  and  hastily  explained 
that  life  in  the  woods,  such  as  a  trader  must  live, 
would  teach  any  man  —  an  Englishman,  now,  as  well 
as  a  Frenchman  —  how  to  read  what  was  written  on 
the  earth.  Farther  on,  when  they  came  to  a  minia 
ture  glen  between  the  semblance  of  two  hills,  down 
which,  in  mockery  of  a  torrent,  brabbled  a  slim  brown 
stream,  MacLean  stood  still,  gazed  for  a  minute,  then, 
whistling,  caught  up  with  his  companion,  and  spoke 
at  length  upon  the  subject  of  the  skins  awaiting  them 
at  Williamsburgh. 

The  road  had  other  travelers  than  themselves.  At 
intervals  a  cloud  of  dust  would  meet  or  overtake  them, 
and  out  of  the  windows  of  coach  or  chariot  or  lighter 
chaise  faces  would  glance  at  them.  In  the  thick  dust 
wheels  and  horses'  hoofs  made  no  noise,  the  black 
coachmen  sat  still  upon  the  boxes,  the  faces  were  lan 
guid  with  the  springtime.  A  moment  and  all  were 
gone.  Oftener  there  passed  a  horseman.  If  he  were 
riding  the  planter's  pace,  he  went  by  like  a  whirlwind, 
troubling  only  to  curse  them  out  of  his  path ;  if  he 
had  more  leisure,  he  threw  them  a  good-morning,  or 
perhaps  drew  rein  to  ask  this  or  that  of  Hugon.  The 
trader  was  well  known,  and  was  an  authority  upon 
all  matters  pertaining  to  hunting  or  trapping.  The 


122  AUDREY 

foot  passengers  were  few,  for  in  Virginia  no  man 
walked  that  could  ride,  and  on  a  morn  of  early  May 
they  that  walked  were  like  to  be  busy  in  the  fields. 
An  ancient  seaman,  lame  and  vagabond,  lurched  be 
side  them  for  a  while,  then  lagged  behind ;  a  witch, 
old  and  bowed  and  bleared  of  eye,  crossed  their  path ; 
and  a  Sapony  hunter,  with  three  wolves'  heads  slung 
across  his  shoulder,  slipped  by  them  on  his  way  to 
claim  the  reward  decreed  by  the  Assembly.  At  a 
turn  of  the  road  they  came  upon  a  small  ordinary, 
with  horses  fastened  before  it,  and  with  laughter, 
oaths,  and  the  rattling  of  dice  issuing  from  the  open 
windows.  The  trader  had  money;  the  storekeeper 
had  none.  The  latter,  though  he  was  thirsty,  would 
have  passed  on ;  but  Hugon  twitched  him  by  the 
sleeve,  and  producing  from  the  depths  of  his  great 
flapped  pocket  a  handful  of  crusadoes,  ecues,  and 
pieces  of  eight,  indicated  with  a  flourish  that  he  was 
prepared  to  share  with  his  less  fortunate  companion. 

They  drank  standing,  kissed  the  girl  who  served 
them,  and  took  to  the  road  again.  There  were  no 
more  thick  woods,  the  road  running  in  a  blaze  of  sun 
shine  past  clumps  of  cedars  and  wayside  tangles  of 
blackberry,  sumac,  and  elder.  Presently,  beyond  a 
group  of  elms,  came  into  sight  the  goodly  college  of 
William  and  Mary,  and,  dazzling  white  against  the 
blue,  the  spire  of  Bruton  church. 

Within  a  wide  pasture  pertaining  to  the  college, 
close  to  the  roadside  and  under  the  boughs  of  a  vast 
poplar,  half  a  score  of  students  were  at  play.  Their 
lithe  young  bodies  were  dark  of  hue  and  were  not 
overburdened  with  clothing;  their  countenances  re 
mained  unmoved,  without  laughter  or  grimacing ;  and 
no  excitement  breathed  in  the  voices  with  which  they 


MACLEAN  TO  THE  RESCUE  123 

called  one  to  another.  In  deep  gravity  they  tossed  a 
ball,  or  pitched  a  quoit,  or  engaged  in  wrestling.  A 
white  man,  with  a  singularly  pure  and  gentle  face,  sat 
upon  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  watched 
the  studious  efforts  of  his  pupils  with  an  approving 
smile. 

"  Wildcats  to  purr  upon  the  hearth,  and  Indians  to 
go  to  school !  "  quoth  MacLean.  "  Were  you  taught 
here,  Hugon,  and  did  you  play  so  sadly  ?  " 

The  trader,  his  head  held  very  high,  drew  out  a 
large  and  bedizened  snuffbox,  and  took  snuff  with 
ostentation.  "  My  father  was  of  a  great  tribe  —  I 
would  say  a  great  house  —  in  the  country  called 
France,"  he  explained,  with  dignity.  "  Oh,  he  was 
of  a  very  great  name  indeed !  His  blood  was  —  what 
do  you  call  it  ?  —  blue.  I  am  the  son  of  my  father :  I 
am  a  Frenchman.  Bien !  My  father  dies,  having 
always  kept  me  with  him  at  Monacan-Town  ;  and 
when  they  have  laid  him  full  length  in  the  ground, 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  calls  me  to  him.  '  Jean,'  says 
he,  and  his  voice  is  like  the  ice  in  the  stream,  '  Jean, 
you  have  ten  years,  and  your  father  —  may  le  bon 
Dieu  pardon  his  sins !  —  has  left  his  wishes  regarding 
you  and  money  for  your  maintenance.  To-morrow 
Messieurs  de  Sailly  and  de  Breuil  go  down  the  river 
to  talk  of  affairs  with  the  English  Governor.  You 
will  go  with  them,  and  they  will  leave  you  at  the 
Indian  school  which  the  English  have  built  near  to 
the  great  college  in  their  town  of  William sburgh. 
There  you  will  stay,  learning  all  that  Englishmen  can 
teach  you,  until  you  have  eighteen  years.  Come  back 
to  me  then,  and  with  the  money  left  by  your  father 
you  shall  be  fitted  out  as  a  trader.  Go ! '  .  .  .  Yes, 
I  went  to  school  here ;  but  I  learned  fast,  and  did  not 


124  AUDREY 

forget  the  things  I  learned,  and  I  played  with  the 
English  boys  —  there  being  no  scholars  from  France 
—  on  the  other  side  of  the  pasture." 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  an  irruption  of  laughing, 
shouting  figures  from  the  north  wing  of  the  college. 
The  white  man  under  the  tree  had  been  quietly 
observant  of  the  two  wayfarers,  and  he  now  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  came  over  to  the  rail  fence  against  which 
they  leaned. 

"  Ha,  Jean  Hugon !  "  he  said  pleasantly,  touching 
with  his  thin  white  hand  the  brown  one  of  the  trader. 
"  I  thought  it  had  been  my  old  scholar !  Canst  say 
the  belief  and  the  Commandments  yet,  Jean?  Yon 
der  great  fellow  with  the  ball  is  Meshawa,  —  Meshawa 
that  was  a  little,  little  fellow  when  you  went  away. 
All  your  other  playmates  are  gone,  —  though  you  did 
not  play  much,  Jean,  but  gloomed  and  gloomed  because 
you  must  stay  this  side  of  the  meadow  with  your  own 
color.  Will  you  not  cross  the  fence  and  sit  awhile 
with  your  old  master?" 

As  he  spoke  he  regarded  with  a  humorous  smile  the 
dusty  glories  of  his  sometime  pupil,  and  when  he  had 
come  to  an  end  he  turned  and  made  as  if  to  beckon  to 
the  Indian  with  the  ball.  But  Hugon  drew  his  hand 
away,  straightened  himself,  and  set  his  face  like  a 
flint  toward  the  town.  "  I  am  sorry,  1  have  no  time 
to-day,"  he  said  stiffly.  "  My  friend  and  I  have  busi 
ness  in  town  with  men  of  my  own  color.  My  color  is 
white.  I  do  not  want  to  see  Meshawa  or  the  others. 
I  have  forgotten  them," 

He  turned  away,  but  a  thought  striking  him  his  face 
brightened,  and  plunging  his  hand  into  his  pocket  he 
again  brought  forth  his  glittering  store,  "  Nowadays 
I  have  money,"  he  said  grandly.  "  It  used  to  be  that 


MACLEAN  TO  THE  RESCUE  125 

Indian  braves  brought  Meshawa  and  the  others  pre 
sents,  because  they  were  the  sons  of  their  great  men. 
I  was  the  son  of  a  great  man,  too ;  but  he  was  not  In 
dian  and  he  was  lying  in  his  grave,  and  no  one  brought 
rne  gifts.  Now  I  wish  to  give  presents.  Here  are  ten 
coins,  master.  Give  one  to  each  Indian  boy,  the 
largest  to  Meshawa." 

The  Indian  teacher,  Charles  Griffin  by  name,  looked 
with  a  whimsical  face  at  the  silver  pieces  laid  arow 
upon  the  top  rail.  "  Very  well,  Jean,"  he  said.  "  It 
is  good  to  give  of  thy  substance.  Meshawa  and  the 
others  will  have  a  feast.  Yes,  I  will  remember  to  tell 
them  to  whom  they  owe  it.  Good-day  to  you  both." 

The  meadow,  the  solemnly  playing  Indians,  and 
their  gentle  teacher  were  left  behind,  and  the  two 
men,  passing  the  long  college  all  astare  with  windows, 
the  Indian  school,  and  an  expanse  of  grass  starred 
with  buttercups,  came  into  Duke  of  Gloucester  Street. 
Broad,  unpaved,  deep  in  dust,  shaded  upon  its  ragged 
edges  by  mulberries  and  poplars,  it  ran  without  shadow 
of  turning  from  the  gates  of  William  and  Mary  to  the 
wide  sweep  before  the  Capitol.  Houses  bordered  it, 
flush  with  the  street  or  set  back  in  fragrant  gardens ; 
other  and  narrower  ways  opened  from  it;  half  way 
down  its  length  wide  greens,  where  the  buttercups 
were  thick  in  the  grass,  stretched  north  and  south. 
Beyond  these  greens  were  more  houses,  more  mulber 
ries  and  poplars,  and  finally,  closing  the  vista,  the 
brick  facade  of  the  Capitol. 

The  two  from  Fair  View  plantation  kept  their  for 
est  gait :  for  the  trader  was  in  a  hurry  to  fulfill  his 
part  of  the  bargain,  which  was  merely  to  exhibit  and 
value  the  skins.  There  was  an  ordinary  in  Nicholson 
Street  that  was  to  his  liking.  Sailors  gamed  there, 


126  AUDREY 

and  other  traders,  and  half  a  dozen  younger  sons  of 
broken  gentlemen.  It  was  as  cleanly  dining  in  its 
chief  room  as  in  the  woods,  and  the  aqua  vitse,  if  bad, 
was  cheap.  In  good  humor  with  himself,  and  by  na 
ture  lavish  with  his  earnings,  he  offered  to  make  the 
storekeeper  his  guest  for  the  day.  The  latter  curtly 
declined  the  invitation.  He  had  bread  and  meat  in 
his  wallet,  and  wanted  no  drink  but  water.  He  would 
dine  beneath  the  trees  on  the  market  green,  would  fin 
ish  his  business  in  town,  and  be  half  way  back  to  the 
plantation  while  the  trader  —  being  his  own  man,  with 
no  fear  of  hue  and  cry  if  he  were  missed  —  was  still 
at  hazard. 

This  question  settled,  the  two  kept  each  other  com 
pany  for  several  hours  longer,  at  the  end  of  which 
time  they  issued  from  the  store  at  which  the  greater 
part  of  their  business  had  been  transacted,  and  went 
their  several  ways,  —  Hugon  to  the  ordinary  in  Nich 
olson  Street,  and  MacLean  to  his  dinner  beneath  the 
sycamores  on  the  green.  When  the  frugal  meal  had 
been  eaten,  the  latter  recrossed  the  sward  to  the  street, 
and  took  up  again  the  round  of  his  commissions. 

It  was  after  three  by  the  great  clock  in  the  cupola 
of  the  Capitol  when  he  stood  before  the  door  of  Alex 
ander  Ker,  the  silversmith,  and  found  entrance  made 
difficult  by  the  serried  shoulders  of  half  a  dozen  young 
men  standing  within  the  store,  laughing,  and  making 
bantering  speeches  to  some  one  hidden  from  the  High 
lander's  vision.  Presently  an  appealing  voice,  fol 
lowed  by  a  low  cry,  proclaimed  that  the  some  one  was 
a  woman. 

MacLean  had  a  lean  and  wiry  strength  which  had 
stood  him  in  good  stead  upon  more  than  one  occasion 
in  his  checkered  career.  He  now  drove  an  arm  like 


MACLEAN  TO  THE  RESCUE  127 

a  bar  of  iron  between  two  broadcloth  coats,  sent  the 
wearers  thereof  to  right  and  left,  and  found  himself 
one  of  an  inner  ring  and  facing  Mistress  Truelove 
Taberer,  who  stood  at  bay  against  the  silversmith's 
long  table.  One  arm  was  around  the  boy  who  had 
rowed  her  to  the  Fair  View  store  a  week  agone  ;  with 
the  other  she  was  defending  her  face  from  the  attack 
of  a  beribboned  gallant  desirous  of  a  kiss.  The  boy, 
a  slender,  delicate  lad  of  fourteen,  struggled  to  free 
himself  from  his  sister's  restraining  arm,  his  face 
white  with  passion  and  his  breath  coming  in  gasps. 
"  Let  me  go,  Truelove  !  "  he  commanded.  "  If  I  am 
a  Friend,  I  am  a  man  as  well !  Thou  fellow  with  the 
shoulder  knots,  thee  shall  pay  dearly  for  thy  inso 
lence  !  " 

Truelove  tightened  her  hold.  "  Ephraim,  Ephraim  ! 
If  a  man  compel  thee  to  go  with  him  a  mile,  thee  is 
to  go  with  him  twain  ;  if  he  take  thy  cloak^  thee  is  to 
give  him  thy  coat  also  ;  if  he  —  Ah  !  "  She  buried 
her  profaned  cheek  in  her  arm  and  began  to  cry,  but 
very  softly. 

Her  tormentors,  flushed  with  wine  and  sworn  to  ob 
tain  each  one  a  kiss,  laughed  more  loudly,  and  one 
young  rake,  with  wig  and  ruffles  awry,  lurched  for* 
ward  to  take  the  place  of  the  coxcomb  who  had  scored. 
Ephraim  wrenched  himself  free,  and  making  for  this 
gentleman  might  have  given  or  received  bodily  injury, 
had  not  a  heavy  hand  falling  upon  his  shoulder  stopped 
him  in  mid-career. 

"  Stand  aside,  boy,"  said  MaeLean,  "  This  quar 
rel  's  mine  by  virtue  of  my  making  it  so.  Mistress 
Truelove,  you  shall  have  no  further  annoyance.  Now, 
you  Lowland  cowards  that  cannot  see  a  flower  bloom 
but  you  wish  to  trample  it  in  the  mire,  come  taste  the 


128  AUDREY" 

ground  yourself,  and  be  taught  that  the  flower  is  out 
of  reach'!  " 

As  he  spoke  he  stepped  before  the  Quakeress,  wea 
ponless,  but  with  his  eyes  like  steel.  The  half  dozen 
spendthrifts  and  ne'er-do-weels  whom  he  faced  paused 
but  long  enough  to  see  that  this  newly  arrived  cham 
pion  had  only  his  bare  hands,  and  was,  by  token  of 
his  dress,  undoubtedly  their  inferior,  before  setting 
upon  him  with  drunken  laughter  and  the  loudly  avowed 
purpose  of  administering  a  drubbing.  The  one  that 
came  first  he  sent  rolling  to  the  floor.  "  Another  for 
Hector !  "  he  said  coolly. 

The  silversmith,  ensconced  in  safety  behind  the  table, 
wrung  his  hands.  "  Sirs,  sirs !  Take  your  quarrel 
into  the  street !  I  '11  no  have  fighting  in  my  store. 
What  did  ye  rin  in  here  for,  ye  Quaker  baggage  ? 
Losh !  did  ye  ever  see  the  like  of  that !  Here,  boy, 
ye  can  get  through  the  window.  Rin  for  the  consta 
ble  !  Rin,  I  tell  ye,  or  there  '11  be  murder  done !  " 

A  gentleman  who  had  entered  the  store  unobserved 
drew  his  rapier,  and  with  it  struck  up  a  heavy  cane 
which  was  in  the  act  of  descending  for  the  second  time 
upon  the  head  of  the  unlucky  Scot.  f  "  What  is  all 
this  ?  "  he  asked  quietly.  "  Five  men  against  one,  — 
that  is  hardly  fair  play.  Ah,  I  see  there  were  six  ;  I 
had  overlooked  the  gentleman  on  the  floor,  who,  I 
hope,  is  only  stunned.  Five  to  one,  —  the  odds  are 
heavy.  Perhaps  I  can  make  them  less  so."  With  a 
smile  upon  his  lips,  he  stepped  backward  a  foot  or  two 
until  he  stood  with  the  weaker  side. 

Now,  had  it  been  the  constable  who  so  suddenly 
appeared  upon  the  scene,  the  probabilities  are  that  the 
fight,  both  sides  having  warmed  to  it,  would,  despite 
the  terrors  of  the  law,  have  been  carried  to  a  finish. 


MACLEAN  TO  THE  RESCUE  129 

But  it  was  not  the  constable;  it  was  a  gentleman 
recently  returned  from  England,  and  become  in  the 
eyes  of  the  youth  of  Williamsburgh  the  glass  of  fash 
ion  and  the  mould  of  form.  The  youngster  with  the 
shoulder  knots  had  copied  color  and  width  of  ribbon 
from  a  suit  which  this  gentleman  had  worn  at  the 
Palace  ;  the  rake  with  the  wig  awry,  who  passed  for  a 
wit,  had  done  him  the  honor  to  learn  by  heart  portions 
of  his  play,  and  to  repeat  (without  quotation  marks)  a 
number  of  his  epigrams  ;  while  the  pretty  fellow  whose 
cane  he  had  struck  up  practiced  night  and  morning 
before  a  mirror  his  bow  and  manner  of  presenting  his 
snuffbox.  A  fourth  ruffler  desired  office,  and  cared 
not  to  offend  a  prospective  Councilor.  There  was 
rumor,  too,  of  a  grand  entertainment  to  be  given  at 
Fair  View ;  it  was  good  to  stand  well  with  the  law, 
but  it  was  imperative  to  do  so  with  Mr.  Marmaduke 
Haward.  Their  hands  fell ;  they  drew  back  a  pace, 
and  the  wit  made  himself  spokesman.  Hoses  were 
rare  so  early  in  the  year  ;  for  him  and  his  companions, 
they  had  but  wished  to  compliment  those  that  bloomed 
in  the  cheeks  of  the  pretty  Quakeress.  This  servant 
fellow,  breathing  fire  like  a  dragon,  had  taken  it  upon 
himself  to  defend  the  roses,  —  which  likely  enough 
were  grown  for  him,  —  and  so  had  been  about  to  bring 
upon  himself  merited  chastisement.  However,  since  it 
was  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  who  pleaded  for  him  — 
A  full  stop,  a  low  bow,  and  a  flourish.  "  Will  Mr. 
Haward  honor  me  ?  'T  is  right  Macouba,  and  the  box 
—  if  the  author  of  '  The  Puppet  Show  '  would  deign 
to  accept  it "  — 

"Rather  to  change  with  you,  sir,"  said  the  other 
urbanely,  and  drew  out  his  own  chased  and  medal- 
lioned  box. 


130  AUDREY 

The  gentleman  upon  the  floor  had  now  gotten  un 
steadily  to  his  feet.  Mr.  Haward  took  snuff  with  each 
of  the  six ;  asked  after  the  father  of  one,  the  brother 
of  another ;  delicately  intimated  his  pleasure  in  find 
ing  the  noble  order  of  Mohocks,  that  had  lately  died 
in  London,  resurrected  in  Virginia ;  and  fairly  bowed 
the  flattered  youths  out  of  the  store.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  upon  the  threshold  watching  them  go  trium 
phantly,  if  unsteadily,  up  the  street ;  then  turned  to 
the  interior  of  the  store  to  find  MacLean  seated  upon 
a  stool,  with  his  head  against  the  table,  submitting 
with  a  smile  of  pure  content  to  the  ministrations  of 
the  dove-like  mover  of  the  late  turmoil,  who  with 
trembling  fingers  was  striving  to  bind  her  kerchief 
about  a  great  cut  in  his  forehead. 


CHAPTER  X 

HAWAED   AND  EVELYN 

MACLEAN  put  aside  with  much  gentleness  the 
hands  of  his  surgeon,  and,  rising  to  his  feet,  answered 
the  question  in  Haward's  eyes  by  producing  a  slip  of 
paper  and  gravely  proffering  it  to  the  man  whom  he 
served.  Haward  took  it,  read  it,  and  handed  it  back ; 
then  turned  to  the  Quaker  maiden.  "  Mistress  True- 
love  Taberer,"  he  said  courteously.  "  Are  you  staying 
in  town  ?  If  you  will  tell  me  where  you  lodge,  I  will 
myself  conduct  you  thither." 

Truelove  shook  her  head,  and  slipped  her  hand  into 
that  of  her  brother  Ephraim.  "  I  thank  thee,  friend," 
she  said,  with  gentle  dignity,  "  and  thee,  too,  Angus 
MacLean,  though  I  grieve  that  thee  sees  not  that  it  is 
not  given  us  to  meet  evil  with  evil,  nor  to  withstand 
force  with  force.  Ephraim  and  I  can  now  go  in  peace. 
I  thank  thee  again,  friend,  and  thee."  She  gave  her 
hand  first  to  Haward,  then  to  MacLean.  The  former, 
knowing  the  fashion  of  the  Quakers,  held  the  small 
fingers  a  moment,  then  let  them  drop ;  the  latter, 
knowing  it,  too,  raised  them  to  his  lips  and  imprinted 
upon  them  an  impassioned  kiss.  Truelove  blushed, 
then  frowned,  last  of  all  drew  her  hand  away. 

With  the  final  glimpse  of  her  gray  skirt  the  High 
lander  came  back  to  the  present.  "  Singly  I  could 
have  answered  for  them  all,  one  after  the  other,"  he 


132  AUDREY 

said  stiffly.  "  Together  they  had  the  advantage.  I 
pay  my  debt  and  give  you  thanks,  sir." 

"  That  is  an  ugly  cut  across  your  forehead,"  replied 
Haward.  "Mr.  Ker  had  best  bring  you  a  basin  of 
water.  Or  stay  !  I  am  going  to  my  lodging.  Come 
with  me,  and  Juba  shall  dress  the  wound  properly." 

MacLean  turned  his  keen  blue  eyes  upon  him. 
"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  give  me  a  command, 
or  that  you  extend  to  me  an  invitation  ?  In  the  latter 
case,  I  should  prefer  "  — 

"  Then  take  it  as  a  command,"  said  Haward  imper- 
turbably.  "  I  wish  your  company.  Mr.  Ker,  good- 
day  ;  I  will  buy  the  piece  of  plate  which  you  showed 
me  yesterday." 

The  two  moved  down  the  room  together,  but  at  the 
door  MacLean,  with  his  face  set  like  a  flint,  stood  aside, 
and  Haward  passed  out  first,  then  waited  for  the  other 
to  come  up  with  him. 

"  When  I  drink  a  cup  I  drain  it  to  the  dregs,"  said 
the  Scot.  "  I  walk  behind  the  man  who  commands 
me.  The  way,  you  see,  is  not  broad  enough  for  you 
and  me  and  hatred." 

"Then  let  hatred  lag  behind,"  answered  Haward 
coolly.  "  I  have  negroes  to  walk  at  my  heels  when  I 
go  abroad.  I  take  you  for  a  gentleman,  accept  your 
enmity  an  it  please  you,  but  protest  against  standing 
here  in  the  hot  sunshine." 

With  a  shrug  MacLean  joined  him.  "  As  you 
please,"  he  said.  "  I  have  in  spirit  moved  with  you 
through  London  streets.  I  never  thought  to  walk 
with  you  in  the  flesh." 

It  was  yet  warm  and  bright  in  the  street,  the  dust 
thick,  the  air  heavy  with  the  odors  of  the  May.  Ha 
ward  and  MacLean  walked  in  silence,  each  as  to  the 


HAWARD   AND  EVELYN  133 

other,  one  as  to  the  world  at  large.  Now  and  again 
the  Virginian  must  stop  to  bow  profoundly  to  curtsy 
ing  ladies,  or  to  take  snuff  with  some  portly  Councilor 
or  less  stately  Burgess  who,  coming  from  the  Capitol, 
chanced  to  overtake  them.  When  he  paused  his  store 
keeper  paused  also,  but,  having  no  notice  taken  of  him 
beyond  a  glance  to  discern  his  quality,  needed  neither 
a  supple  back  nor  a  ready  smile. 

Haward  lodged  upon  Palace  Street,  in  a  square 
brick  house,  lived  in  by  an  ancient  couple  who  could 
remember  Puritan  rule  in  Virginia,  who  had  served 
Sir  William  Berkeley,  and  had  witnessed  the  burning 
of  Jamestown  by  Bacon.  There  was  a  grassy  yard  to 
the  house,  and  the  path  to  the  door  lay  through  an 
alley  of  lilacs,  purple  and  white.  The  door  was  open, 
and  Haward  and  MacLean,  entering,  crossed  the  hall, 
and  going  into  a  large,  low  room,  into  which  the  late 
sunshine  was  streaming,  found  the  negro  Juba  setting 
cakes  and  wine  upon  the  table. 

"  This  gentleman  hath  a  broken  head,  Juba,"  said 
the  master.  "  Bring  water  and  linen,  and  bind  it  up 
for  him." 

As  he  spoke  he  laid  aside  hat  and  rapier,  and  mo 
tioned  MacLean  to  a  seat  by  the  window.  The  latter 
obeyed  the  gesture  in  silence,  and  in  silence  submitted 
to  the  ministrations  of  the  negro.  Haward,  sitting  at 
the  table,  waited  until  the  wound  had  been  dressed  ; 
then  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  dismissed  the  black. 

"You  would  take  nothing  at  my  hands  the  other 
day,"  he  said  to  the  grim  figure  at  the  window. 
"  Change  your  mind,  my  friend,  —  or  my  foe,  —  and 
come  sit  and  drink  with  me." 

MacLean  reared  himself  from  his  seat,  and  went 
stiffly  over  to  the  table.  "  I  have  eaten  and  drunken 


134  AUDREY 

with  an  enemy  before  to-day,"  he  said.  "  Once  I  met 
Ewin  Mor  Mackirmon  upon  a  mountain  side.  He  had 
oatcake  in  his  sporran,  and  I  a  flask  of  usquebaugh. 
We  couched  in  the  heather,  and  ate  and  drank  to 
gether,  and  then  we  rose  and  fought.  I  should  have 
slain  him  but  that  a  dozen  Mackinnons  came  up  the 
glen,  and  he  turned  and  fled  to  them  for  cover.  Here 
I  am  in  an  alien  land ;  a  thousand  fiery  crosses  would 
not  bring  one  clansman  to  my  side  ;  I  cannot  fight  my 
foe.  Wherefore,  then,  should  I  take  favors  at  his 
hands?" 

"Why  should  you  be  my  foe  ?  "  demanded  Haward. 
"  Look  you,  now !  There  was  a  time,  I  suppose,  when 
I  was  an  insolent  youngster  like  any  one  of  those  who 
lately  set  upon  you ;  but  now  I  call  myself  a  philoso 
pher  and  man  of  a  world  for  whose  opinions  I  care 
not  overmuch.  My  coat  is  of  fine  cloth,  and  my  shirt 
of  holland ;  your  shirt  is  lockram,  and  you  wear  no 
coat  at  all :  ergo,  saith  a  world  of  pretty  fellows,  we 
are  beings  of  separate  planets.  'As  the  cloth  is,  the 
man  is,'  —  to  which  doctrine  I  am  at  times  heretic.  I 
have  some  store  of  yellow  metal,  and  spend  my  days 
in  ridding  myself  of  it,  —  a  feat  which  you  have  ac 
complished.  A  goodly  number  of  acres  is  also  counted 
unto  me,  but  in  the  end  my  holding  and  your  holding 
will  measure  the  same.  I  walk  a  level  road ;  you 
have  met  with  your  precipice,  and,  bruised  by  the 
fall,  you  move  along  stony  ways ;  but  through  the 
same  gateway  we  go  at  last.  Fate,  not  I,  put  you 
here.  Why  should  you  hate  me  who  am  of  your 
order?" 

MacLean  left  the  table,  and  twice  walked  the 
length  of  the  room,  slowly  and  with  knitted  brows. 
"  If  you  mean  the  world-wide  order,  —  the  order  of 


H AWARD   AND  EVELYN  135 

gentlemen," —  he  said,  coming  to  a  pause  with  the 
breadth  of  the  table  between  him  and  Haward,  "  we 
may  have  that  ground  in  common.  The  rest  is  debat 
able  land.  I  do  not  take  you  for  a  sentimentalist  or 
a  redresser  of  wrongs.  I  am  your  storekeeper,  pur 
chased  with  that  same  yellow  metal  of  which  you  so 
busily  rid  yourself ;  and  your  storekeeper  I  shall  re 
main  until  the  natural  death  of  my  term,  two  years 
hence.  We  are  not  countrymen ;  we  own  different 
kings ;  I  may  once  have  walked  your  level  road,  but 
you  have  never  moved  in  the  stony  ways;  my  eyes 
are  blue,  while  yours  are  gray ;  you  love  your  melting 
Southern  music,  and  I  take  no  joy  save  in  the  pipes ; 
I  dare  swear  you  like  the  smell  of  lilies  which  I  can 
not  abide,  and  prefer  fair  hair  in  women  where  I 
would  choose  the  dark.  There  is  no  likeness  between 
us.  Why,  then  "  — 

Haward  smiled,  and  drawing  two  glasses  toward 
him  slowly  filled  them  with  wine.  "  It  is  true,"  he 
said,  "  that  it  is  not  my  intention  to  become  a  peti 
tioner  for  the  pardon  of  a  rebel  to  his  serene  and 
German  Majesty  the  King ;  true  also  that  I  like  the 
fragrance  of  the  lily.  I  have  my  fancies.  Say  that 
I  am  a  man  of  whim,  and  that,  living  in  a  lonely  house 
set  in  a  Sahara  of  tobacco  fields,  it  is  my  whim  to  de 
sire  the  acquaintance  of  the  only  gentleman  within 
some  miles  of  me.  Say  that  my  fancy  hath  been 
caught  by  a  picture  drawn  for  me  a  week  agone  ; 
that,  being  a  philosopher,  I  play  with  the  idea  that 
your  spirit,  knife  in  hand,  walked  at  my  elbow  for  ten 
years,  and  I  knew  it  not.  Say  that  the  idea  has  for 
me  a  curious  fascination.  Say,  finally,  that  I  plume 
myself  that,  given  the  chance,  I  might  break  down 
this  airy  hatred." 


136  AUDREY 

He  set  down  the  bottle,  and  pushed  one  of  the 
brimming  glasses  across  the  table.  "  I  should  like  to 
make  trial  of  my  strength,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Come  !  I  did  you  a  service  to-day ;  in  your  turn 
do  me  a  pleasure." 

MacLean  dragged  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  sat 
down.  "  I  will  drink  with  you,"  he  said,  "  and  forget 
for  an  hour.  A  man  grows  tired  —  It  is  Burgundy, 
is  it  not  ?  Old  Borlum  and  I  emptied  a  bottle  between 
us,  the  day  he  went  as  hostage  to  Wills ;  since  then  I 
have  not  tasted  wine.  *T  is  a  pretty  color." 

Haward  lifted  his  glass.  "  I  drink  to  your  future. 
Freedom,  better  days,  a  stake  in  a  virgin  land,  friend 
ship  with  a  sometime  foe."  He  bowed  to  his  guest 
and  drank. 

"  In  my  country,"  answered  MacLean,  "  where  we 
would  do  most  honor,  we  drink  not  to  life,  but  to 
death.  Orioch  onarach !  Like  a  gentleman  may 
you  die."  He  drank,  and  sighed  with  pleasure. 

"  The  King !  "  said  Haward.  There  was  a  china 
bowl,  filled  with  red  anemones,  upon  the  table.  Mac- 
Lean  drew  it  toward  him,  and,  pressing  aside  the 
mass  of  bloom,  passed  his  glass  over  the  water  in  the 
bowl.  "  The  King !  with  all  my  heart,"  he  said  im- 
perturbably. 

Haward  poured  more  wine.  "I  have  toasted  at 
the  Kit-Kat  many  a  piece  of  brocade  and  lace  less 
fair  than  yon  bit  of  Quaker  gray  that  cost  you  a 
broken  head.  Shall  we  drink  to  Mistress  Truelove 
Taberer?" 

By  now  the  Burgundy  had  warmed  the  heart  and 
loosened  the  tongue  of  the  man  who  had  not  tasted 
wine  since  the  surrender  of  Preston.  "  It  is  but  a 
mile  from  the  store  to  her  father's  house,"  he  said. 


HAWARD  AND  EVELYN  137 

"  Sometimes  on  Sundays  I  go  up  the  creek  upon  the 
Fair  View  side,  and  when  I  am  over  against  the  house 
I  holloa.  Ephraim  comes  in  his  boat  and  rows  me 
across,  and  I  stay  for  an  hour.  They  are  strange 
folk,  the  Quakers.  In  her  sight  and  in  that  of  her 
people  I  am  as  good  a  man  as  you.  '  Friend  Angus 
MacLean,'  '  Friend  Marmaduke  Haward,'  —  world's 
wealth  and  world's  rank  quite  beside  the  question." 

He  drank,  and  commended  the  wine.  Haward 
struck  a  silver  bell,  and  bade  Juba  bring  another 
bottle. 

"  When  do  you  come  again  to  the.  house  at  Fair 
View  ?  "  asked  the  storekeeper. 

"  Very  shortly.  It  is  a  lonely  place,  where  ghosts 
bear  me  company.  I  hope  that  now  and  then,  when 
I  ask  it,  and  when  the  duties  of  your  day  are  ended, 
you  will  come  help  me  exorcise  them.  You  shall  find 
welcome  and  good  wine."  He  spoke  very  courte 
ously,  and  if  he  saw  the  humor  of  the  situation  his  smile 
betrayed  him  not. 

MacLean  took  a  flower  from  the  bowl,  and  plucked 
at  its  petals  with  nervous  fingers.  "Do  you  mean 
that  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

Haward  leaned  across  the  table,  and  their  eyes  met. 
"  On  my  word  I  do,"  said  the  Virginian. 

The  knocker  on  the  house  door  sounded  loudly,  and 
a  moment  later  a  woman's  clear  voice,  followed  by  a 
man's  deeper  tones,  was  heard  in  the  hall. 

"  More  guests,"  said  Haward  lightly.  "  You  are  a 
Jacobite ;  I  drink  my  chocolate  at  St.  James'  Coffee 
House ;  the  gentleman  approaching  —  despite  his 
friendship  for  Orrery  and  for  the  Bishop  of  Roches 
ter —  is  but  a  Hanover  Tory;  but  the  lady,  —  the 
lady  wears  only  white  roses,  and  every  10th  of  June 
makes  a  birthday  feast." 


138  AUDREY 

The  storekeeper  rose  hastily  to  take  his  leave,  but 
was  prevented  both  by  Haward's  restraining  gesture 
and  by  the  entrance  of  the  two  visitors  who  were  now 
ushered  in  by  the  grinning  Juba.  Haward  stepped 
forward.  "  You  are  very  welcome,  Colonel.  Evelyn, 
this  is  kind.  Your  woman  told  me  this  morning  that 
you  were  not  well,  else  "  — 

44  A  migraine,"  she  answered,  in  her  clear,  low  voice. 
"  I  am  better  now,  and  my  father  desired  me  to  take 
the  air  with  him." 

"  We  return  to  Westover  to-morrow,"  said  that 
sprightly  gentleman.  "  Evelyn  is  like  David  of  old, 
and  pines  for  water  from  the  spring  at  home.  It  also 
appears  that  the  many  houses  and  thronged  streets  of 
this  town  weary  her,  who,  poor  child,  is  used  to  an 
Arcady  called  London  !  When  will  you  come  to  us 
at  Westover,  Marmaduke  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  Haward  answered.  "  I  must  first 
put  my  own  house  in  order,  so  that  I  may  in  my  turn 
entertain  my  friends." 

As  he  spoke  he  moved  aside,  so  as  to  include  in 
the  company  MacLean,  who  stood  beside  the  table. 
"  Evelyn,"  he  said,  "  let  me  make  known  to  you  — 
and  to  you,  Colonel  —  a  Scots  gentleman  who  hath 
broken  his  spear  in  his  tilt  with  fortune,  as  hath  been 
the  luck  of  many  a  gallant  man  before  him.  Mistress 
Evelyn  Byrd,  Colonel  Byrd  —  Mr.  MacLean,  who 
was  an  officer  in  the  Highland  force  taken  at  Preston, 
and  who  has  been  for  some  years  a  prisoner  of  war  in 
Virginia." 

The  lady's  curtsy  was  low ;  the  Colonel  bowed  as 
to  his  friend's  friend.  If  his  eyebrows  went  up,  and 
if  a  smile  twitched  the  corners  of  his  lips,  the  falling 
curls  of  his  periwig  hid  from  view  these  tokens  of 


HAWARD  AND  EVELYN  139 

amused  wonder.  MacLean  bowed  somewhat  stiffly, 
as  one  grown  rusty  in  such  matters.  "  I  am  in  addi 
tion  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward's  storekeeper,"  he  said 
succinctly,  then  turned  to  the  master  of  Fair  View. 
"  It  grows  late,"  he  announced,  "  and  I  must  be  back 
at  the  store  to-night.  Have  you  any  message  for 
Saunderson  ?  " 

"  None,"  answered  Haward.  "  I  go  myself  to  Fair 
View  to-morrow,  and  then  I  shall  ask  you  to  drink 
with  me  again." 

As  he  spoke  he  held  out  his  hand.  MacLean  looked 
at  it,  sighed,  then  touched  it  with  his  own.  A  gleam 
as  of  wintry  laughter  came  into  his  blue  eyes.  "I 
doubt  that  I  shall  have  to  get  me  a  new  foe,"  he  said, 
with  regret  in  his  voice. 

When  he  had  bowed  to  the  lady  and  to  her  father, 
and  had  gone  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  lilac- 
bordered  path  and  through  the  gate,  and  when  the 
three  at  the  window  had  watched  him  turn  into  Duke 
of  Gloucester  Street,  the  master  of  Westover  looked 
at  the  master  of  Fair  View  and  burst  out  laughing. 
"  Ludwell  hath  for  an  overseer  the  scapegrace  younger 
son  of  a  baronet ;  and  there  are  three  brothers  of  an 
excellent  name  under  indentures  to  Robert  Carter.  I 
have  at  Westover  a  gardener  who  annually  makes  the 
motto  of  his  house  to  spring  in  pease  and  asparagus. 
I  have  not  had  him  to  drink  with  me  yet,  and  t'  other 
day  I  heard  Ludwell  give  to  the  baronet's  son  a 
hound's  rating." 

"  I  do  not  drink  with  the  name,"  said  Haward 
coolly.  "  I  drink  with  the  man.  The  churl  or  cow 
ard  may  pass  me  by,  but  the  gentleman,  though  his 
hands  be  empty,  I  stop." 

The  other  laughed  again ;  then  dismissed  the  ques- 


140  AUDREY 

tion  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  and  pulled  out  a  great 
gold  watch  with  cornelian  seals.  "  Carter  swears  that 
Dr.  Contesse  hath  a  specific  that  is  as  sovereign  for 
the  gout  as  is  St.  Andrew's  cross  for  a  rattlesnake 
bite.  I  Ve  had  twinges  lately,  and  the  doctor  lives 
hard  by.  Evelyn,  will  you  rest  here  while  I  go  peti 
tion  .ZEsculapius  ?  Haward,  when  I  have  the  recipe  I 
will  return,  and  impart  it  to  you  against  the  time 
when  you  need  it.  No,  no,  child,  stay  where  you  are ! 
I  will  be  back  anon." 

Having  waved  aside  his  daughter's  faint  protest, 
the  Colonel  departed,  —  a  gallant  figure  of  a  man, 
with  a  pretty  wit  and  a  heart  that  was  benevolently 
gay.  As  he  went  down  the  path  he  paused  to  gather 
a  sprig  of  lilac.  "  Westover  —  Fair  View,"  he  said 
to  himself,  and  smiled,  and  smelled  the  lilac  ;  then  — 
though  his  ills  were  somewhat  apocryphal  —  walked 
off  at  a  gouty  pace  across  the  buttercup-sprinkled 
green  toward  the  house  of  Dr.  Contesse. 

Haward  and  Evelyn,  left  alone,  kept  silence  for  a 
time  in  the  quiet  room  that  was  filled  with  late  sun 
shine  and  the  fragrance  of  flowers.  He  stood  by  the 
window,  and  she  sat  in  a  great  chair,  with  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  upon  them.  When 
silence  had  become  more  loud  than  speech,  she  turned 
in  her  seat  and  addressed  herself  to  him. 

"  I  have  known  you  do  many  good  deeds,"  she  said 
slowly.  "  That  gentleman  that  was  here  is  your  ser 
vant,  is  he  not,  and  an  exile,  and  unhappy  ?  And 
you  sent  him  away  comforted.  It  was  a  generous 
thing." 

Haward  moved  restlessly.  "  A  generous  thing," 
he  answered.  "  Ay,  it  was  generous.  I  can  do  such 
things  at  times,  and  why  I  do  them  who  can  tell  ? 


HA  WARD  AND  EVELYN  141 

Not  I !  Do  you  think  that  I  care  for  that  grim 
Highlander,  who  drinks  my  death  in  place  of  my 
health,  who  is  of  a  nation  that  I  dislike,  and  a  party 
that  is  not  mine  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  do  not  know.  And  yet 
you  helped  him." 

Haward  left  the  window,  and  came  and  sat  beside 
her.  "Yes,  I  helped  him.  I  am  not  sure,  but  I 
think  I  did  it  because,  when  first  we  met,  he  told  me 
that  he  hated  me,  and  meant  the  thing  he  said.  It  is 
my  humor  to  fix  my  own  position  in  men's  minds ;  to 
lose  the  thing  I  have  that  I  may  gain  the  thing  I  have 
not ;  to  overcome,  and  never  prize  the  victory ;  to 
hunt  down  a  quarry,  and  feel  no  ardor  in  the  chase ; 
to  strain  after  a  goal,  and  yet  care  not  if  I  never 
reach  it." 

He  took  her  fan  in  his  hand,  and  fell  to  counting 
the  slender  ivory  sticks.  "  I  tread  the  stage  as  a  fine 
gentleman,"  he  said.  "  It  is  the  part  for  which  I  was 
cast,  and  I  play  it  well  with  proper  mien  and  gait.  I 
was  not  asked  if  I  would  like  the  part,  but  I  think 
that  I  do  like  it,  as  much  as  I  like  anything.  Seeing 
that  I  must  play  it,  and  that  there  is  that  within  me 
which  cries  out  against  slovenliness,  I  play  it  as  an 
artist  should.  Magnanimity  goes  with  it,  does  it  not, 
and  generosity,  courtesy,  care  for  the  thing  which  is, 
and  not  for  that  which  seems?  Why,  then,  with 
these  and  other  qualities  I  strive  to  endow  the  charac 
ter." 

He  closed  the  fan,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  "  When  the  lights 
are  out,"  he  said ;  "  when  forever  and  a  night  the 
actor  bids  the  stage  farewell ;  when,  stripped  of  mask 
and  tinsel,  he  goes  home  to  that  Auditor  who  set  him 


142  AUDREY 

his  part,  then  perhaps  he  will  be  told  what  manner  of 
man  he  is.  The  glass  that  now  he  dresses  before  tells 
him  not ;  but  he  thinks  a  truer  glass  would  show  a 
shrunken  figure." 

He  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment ;  then  laughed,  and 
gave  her  back  her  fan.  "  Am  I  to  come  to  Westover, 
Evelyn  ? "  he  asked.  "  Your  father  presses,  and  I 
have  not  known  what  answer  to  make  him." 

"  You  will  give  us  pleasure  by  your  coming,"  she 
said  gently  and  at  once.  "My  father  wishes  your 
advice  as  to  the  ordering  of  his  library ;  and  you 
know  that  my  pretty  stepmother  likes  you  well." 

"Will  it  please  you  to  have  me  come?"  he  asked, 
with  his  eyes  upon  her  face. 

She  met  his  gaze  very  quietly.  "  Why  not  ?  "  she 
answered  simply.  "  You  will  help  me  in  my  flower 
garden,  and  sing  with  me  in  the  evening,  as  of  old." 

"Evelyn,"  he  said,  "  if  what  I  am  about  to  say  to 
you  distresses  you,  lift  your  hand,  and  I  will  cease  to 
speak.  Since  a  day  and  an  hour  in  the  woods  yonder, 
I  have  been  thinking  much.  I  wish  to  wipe  that  hour 
from  your  memory  as  I  wipe  it  from  mine,  and  to  be 
gin  afresh.  You  are  the  fairest  woman  that  I  know, 
and  the  best.  I  beg  you  to  accept  my  reverence, 
homage,  love  ;  not  the  boy's  love,  perhaps ;  perhaps 
not  the  love  that  some  men  have  to  squander,  but  my 
love.  A  quiet  love,  a  lasting  trust,  deep  pride  and 
pleasure  "  — 

At  her  gesture  he  broke  off,  sat  in  silence  for  a 
moment,  then  rising  went  to  the  window,  and  with 
slightly  contracted  brows  stood  looking  out  at  the 
sunshine  that  was  slipping  away.  Presently  he  was 
aware  that  she  stood  beside  him. 

She  was  holding  out  her  hand.     u  It  is  that  of  a 


HA  WARD  AND  EVELYN  143 

friend,"  she  said.  "  No,  do  not  kiss  it,  for  that  is  the 
act  of  a  lover.  And  you  are  not  my  lover,  —  oh,  not 
yet,  not  yet !  "  A  soft,  exquisite  blush  stole  over  her 
face  and  neck,  but  she  did  not  lower  her  lovely  can 
did  eyes.  "  Perhaps  some  day,  some  summer  day  at 
Westover,  it  will  all  be  different,"  she  breathed,  and 
turned  away. 

Haward  caught  her  hand,  and  bending  pressed  his 
lips  upon  it.  "  It  is  different  now  !  "  he  cried.  "  Next 
week  I  shall  come  to  Westover  !  " 

He  led  her  back  to  the  great  chair,  and  presently 
she  asked  some  question  as  to  the  house  at  Fair  View. 
He  plunged  into  an  account  of  the  cases  of  goods 
which  had  followed  him  from  England  by  the  Falcon, 
and  which  now  lay  in  the  rooms  that  were  yet  to  be 
swept  and  garnished ;  then  spoke  lightly  and  whimsi 
cally  of  the  solitary  state  in  which  he  must  live,  and 
of  the  entertainments  which,  to  be  in  the  Virginia 
fashion,  he  must  give.  While  he  talked  she  sat  and 
watched  him,  with  the  faint  smile  upon  her  lips.  The 
sunshine  left  the  floor  and  the  wall,  and  a  dankness 
from  the  long  grass  and  the  closing  flowers  and  the 
heavy  trees  in  the  adjacent  churchyard  stole  into  the 
room.  With  the  coming  of  the  dusk  conversation 
languished,  and  the  two  sat  in  silence  until  the  return 
of  the  Colonel. 

If  that  gentleman  did  not  light  the  darkness  like  a 
star,  at  least  his  entrance  into  a  room  invariably  pro 
duced  the  effect  of  a  sudden  accession  of  wax  lights, 
very  fine  and  clear  and  bright.  He  broke  a  jest  or 
two,  bade  laughing  farewell  to  the  master  of  Fair 
View,  and  carried  off  his  daughter  upon  his  arm. 
Haward  walked  with  them  to  the  gate,  and  came 
back  alone,  stepping  thoughtfully  between  the  lilac 
bushes. 


144  AUDREY 

It  was  not  until  Juba  had  brought  candles,  and  he 
had  taken  his  seat  at  table  before  the  half-emptied 
bottle  of  wine,  that  it  came  to  Haward  that  he  had 
wished  to  tell  Evelyn  of  the  brown  girl  who  had  run 
for  the  guinea,  but  had  forgotten  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER   XI 

AUDREY  OF   THE   GARDEN 

THE  creek  that  ran  between  Fairview  and  the 
glebe  lands  was  narrow  and  deep;  upon  it,  moored 
to  a  stake  driven  into  a  bit  of  marshy  ground  below 
the  orchard,  lay  a  crazy  boat  belonging  to  the  minis 
ter.  To  this  boat,  of  an  early,  sunny  morning,  came 
Audrey,  and,  standing  erect,  pole  in  hand,  pushed 
out  from  the  reedy  bank  into  the  slow-moving  stream. 
It  moved  so  slowly  and  was  so  clear  that  its  depth 
seemed  the  blue  depth  of  the  sky,  with  now  and  then 
a  tranquil  cloud  to  be  glided  over.  The  banks  were 
low  and  of  the  greenest  grass,  save  where  they  sank 
still  lower  and  reeds  abounded,  or  where  some  colored 
bush,  heavy  with  bloom,  bent  to  meet  its  reflected 
image.  It  was  so  fair  that  Audrey  began  to  sing  as 
she  went  down  the  stream ;  and  without  knowing 
why  she  chose  it,  she  sang  a  love  song  learned  out  of 
one  of  Darden's  ungodly  books,  a  plaintive  and  pas 
sionate  lay  addressed  by  some  cavalier  to  his  mistress 
of  an  hour.  She  sang  not  loudly,  but  very  sweetly ; 
carelessly,  too,  and  as  if  to  herself  ;  now  and  then 
repeating  a  line  twice  or  maybe  thrice ;  pleased  with 
the  sweet  melancholy  of  the  notes,  but  not  thinking 
overmuch  of  the  meaning  of  the  words.  They  died 
upon  her  lips  when  Hugon  rose  from  a  lair  of  reeds 
and  called  to  her  to  stop.  "  Come  to  the  shore, 


146  AUDREY 

ma'm'selle  !  "  he  cried.  "  See,  I  have  brought  you  a 
ribbon  from  the  town.  Behold !  "  and  he  fluttered 
a  crimson  streamer. 

Audrey  caught  her  breath ;  then  gazed,  reassured, 
at  the  five  yards  of  water  between  her  and  the  bank. 
Had  Hugon  stood  there  in  his  hunting  dress,  she  would 
have  felt  them  no  security ;  but  he  was  wearing  his 
coat  and  breeches  of  fine  cloth,  his  ruffled  shirt,  and 
his  great  black  periwig.  A  wetting  would  not  be  to 
his  mind. 

As  she  answered  not,  but  went  on  her  way,  silent 
now,  and  with  her  slender  figure  bending  with  the 
motion  of  the  pole,  he  frowned  and  shrugged ;  then 
took  up  his  pilgrimage,  and  with  his  light  and  swing 
ing  stride  kept  alongside  of  the  boat.  The  ribbon 
lay  across  his  arm,  and  he  turned  it  in  the  sunshine. 
"  If  you  come  not  and.  get  it,"  he  wheedled,  "  I  will 
throw  it  in  the  water." 

The  angry  tears  sprang  to  Audrey's  eyes.  "  Do 
so,  and  save  me  the  trouble,"  she  answered,  and  then 
was  sorry  that  she  had  spoken. 

The  red  came  into  the  swarthy  cheeks  of  the  man 
upon  the  bank.  "  You  love  me  not,"  he  said.  "  Good  !. 
You  have  told  me  so  before.  But  here  I  am  !  " 

"  Then  here  is  a  coward !  "  said  Audrey.  "  I  do 
not  wish  you  to  walk  there.  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
speak  to  me.  Go  back  !  " 

Hugon's  teeth  began  to  show.  "  I  go  not,"  he  an 
swered,  with  something  between  a  snarl  and  a  smirk. 
"  I  love  you,  and  I  follow  on  your  path,  —  like  a 
lover." 

"  Like  an  Indian  !  "  cried  the  girl. 

The  arrow  pierced  the  heel.  The  face  which  he 
turned  upon  her  was  the  face  of  a  savage,  made  gro- 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  147 

tesque  and  horrible,  as  war-paint  and  feathers  could 
not  have  made  it,  by  the  bushy  black  wig  and  the  lace 
cravat. 

"  Audrey  !  "  he  called.  "  Morning  Light !  Sun 
shine  in  the  Dark  !  Dancing  Water  !  Audrey  that 
will  not  be  called  '  mademoiselle  '  nor  have  the  woo 
ing  of  the  son  of  a  French  chief !  Then  shall  she 
have  the  wooing  of  the  son  of  a  Monacan  woman.  I 
am  a  hunter.  I  will  woo  as  they  woo  in  the  woods." 

Audrey  bent  to  her  pole,  and  made  faster  progress 
down  the  creek.  Her  heart  was  hot  and  angry,  and 
yet  she  was  afraid.  All  dreadful  things,  all  things  that 
oppressed  with  horror,  all  things  that  turned  one  white 
and  cold,  so  cold  and  still  that  one  could  not  run 
away,  were  summed  up  for  her  in  the  word  "  Indian." 
To  her  the  eyes  of  Hugon  were  basilisk  eyes,  —  they 
drew  her  and  held  her ;  and  when  she  looked  into 
them,  she  saw  flames  rising  and  bodies  of  murdered 
kindred  ;  then  the  mountains  loomed  above  her  again, 
and  it  was  night-time,  and  she  was  alone  save  for  the 
dead,  and  mad  with  fear  and  with  the  quiet. 

The  green  banks  went  by,  and  the  creek  began  to 
widen.  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  called  the  trader. 
"  Wheresoever  you  go,  at  the  end  of  your  path  stand 
my  village  and  my  wigwam.  You  cannot  stay  all 
day  in  that  boat.  If  you  come  not  back  at  the  bidden 
hour,  Darden's  squaw  will  beat  you.  Come  over, 
Morning  Light,  come  over,  and  take  me  in  your  boat, 
and  tie  your  hair  with  my  gift.  I  will  not  hurt  you. 
I  will  tell  you  the  French  love  songs  that  my  father 
sang  to  my  mother.  I  will  speak  of  land  that  I  have 
bought  (oh,  I  have  prospered,  ma'ni'selle !),  and  of  a 
house  that  I  mean  to  build,  and  of  a  woman  that  I 
wish  to  put  in  the  house,  —  a  Sunshine  in  the  Dark 


148  AUDREY 

to  greet  me  when  I  come  from  my  hunting  in  the  great 
forests  beyond  the  falls,  from  my  trading  with  the 
nation  of  the  Tuscaroras,  with  the  villages  of  the  Mon- 
acans.  Come  over  to  me,  Morning  Light !  " 

The  creek  widened  and  widened,  then  doubled  a 
grassy  cape  all  in  the  shadow  of  a  towering  sycamore. 
Beyond  the  point,  crowning  the  low  green  slope  of  the 
bank,  and  topped  with  a  shaggy  fell  of  honeysuckle 
and  ivy,  began  a  red  brick  wall.  Half  way  down  its 
length  it  broke,  and  six  shallow  steps  led  up  to  an  iron 
gate,  through  whose  bars  one  looked  into  a  garden. 
Gazing  on  down  the  creek  past  the  farther  stretch  of 
the  wall,  the  eye  came  upon  the  shining  reaches  of  the 
river.  • 

Audrey  turned  the  boat's  head  toward  the  steps  and 
the  gate  in  the  wall.  The  man  on  the  opposite  shore 
let  fall  an  oath. 

"  So  you  go  to  Fair  View  house !  "  he  called  across 
the  stream.  "  There  are  only  negroes  there,  unless  " 
—  he  came  to  a  pause,  and  his  face  changed  again,  and 
out  of  his  eyes  looked  the  spirit  of  some  hot,  ancestral 
French  lover,  cynical,  suspicious,  and  jealously  watch 
ful  —  "  unless  their  master  is  at  home,"  he  ended,  and 
laughed. 

Audrey  touched  the  wall,  and  over  a  great  iron 
hook  projecting  therefrom  threw  a  looped  rope,  and 
fastened  her  boat. 

"  I  stay  here  until  you  come  forth !  "  swore  Hugon 
from  across  the  creek.  "  And  then  I  follow  you  back 
to  where  you  must  moor  the  boat.  And  then  I  shall 
walk  with  you  to  the  minister's  house.  Until  we  meet 
again,  ma'm's'elle ! " 

Audrey  answered  not,  but  sped  up  the  steps  to  the 
gate.  A  sick  fear  lest  it  should  be  locked  possessed  her ; 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  149 

but  it  opened  at  her  touch,  disclosing  a  long,  sunny 
path,  paved  with  brick,  and  shut  between  lines  of  tall, 
thick,  and  smoothly  clipped  box.  The  gate  clanged 
to  behind  her  ;  ten  steps,  and  the  boat,  the  creek,  and 
the  farther  shore  were  hidden  from  her  sight.  With 
this  comparative  bliss  came  a  faintness  and  a  trem 
bling  that  presently  made  her  slip  down  upon  the 
warm  and  sunny  floor,  and  lie  there,  with  her  face 
within  her  arm  and  the  tears  upon  her  cheeks.  The 
odor  of  the  box  wrapped  her  like  a  mantle  ;  a  lizard 
glided  past  her ;  somewhere  in  open  spaces  birds 
were  singing ;  finally  a  greyhound  came  down  the 
path,  and  put  its  nose  into  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

She  rose  to  her  knees,  and  curled  her  arm  around 
the  dog's  neck ;  then,  with  a  long  sigh,  stood  up,  and 
asked  of  herself  if  this  were  the  way  to  the  house. 
She  had  never  seen  the  house  at  close  range,  had  never 
been  in  this  walled  garden.  It  was  from  Williams- 
burgh  that  the  minister  had  taken  her  to  his  home, 
eleven  years  before.  Sometimes  from  the  river,  in 
those  years,  she  had  seen,  rising  above  the  trees,  the 
steep  roof  and  the  upper  windows ;  sometimes  upon 
the  creek  she  had  gone  past  the  garden  wall,  and  had 
smelled  the  flowers  upon  the  other  side. 

In  her  lonely  life,  with  the  beauty  of  the  earth  about 
her  to  teach  her  that  there  might  be  greater  beauty 
that  she  yet  might  see ;  with  a  daily  round  of  toil  and 
sharp  words  to  push  her  to  that  escape  which  lay  in  a 
world  of  dreams,  she  had  entered  that  world,  and 
thrived  therein.  It  was  a  world  that  was  as  pure  as 
a  pearl,  and  more  fantastic  than  an  Arabian  tale. 
She  knew  that  when  she  died  she  could  take  nothing 
out  of  life  with  her  to  heaven.  But  with  this  other 
world  it  was  different,  and  all  that  she  had  or  dreamed 


150  AUDREY 

of  that  was  fair  she  carried  through  its  portals.  This 
house  was  there.  Long  closed,  walled  in,  guarded  by 
tall  trees,  seen  at  far  intervals  and  from  a  distance,  as 
through  a  glass  darkly,  it  had  become  to  her  an  en 
chanted  spot,  about  which  played  her  quick  fancy,  but 
where  her  feet  might  never  stray. 

But  now  the  spell  which  had  held  the  place  in  slum 
ber  was  snapped,  and  her  feet  were  set  in  its  pleasant 
paths.  She  moved  down  the  alley  between  the  lines  of 
box,  and  the  greyhound  went  with  her.  The  branches 
of  a  walnut-tree  drooped  heavily  across  the  way ;  when 
she  had  passed  them  she  saw  the  house,  square,  dull 
red,  bathed  in  sunshine.  A  moment,  and  the  walk 
led  her  between  squat  pillars  of  living  green  into  the 
garden  out  of  the  fairy  tale. 

Dim,  fragrant,  and  old  time ;  walled  in ;  here  sun 
shiny  spaces,  there  cool  shadows  of  fruit-trees ;  broken 
by  circles  and  squares  of  box ;  green  with  the  grass 
and  the  leaves,  red  and  purple  and  gold  and  white 
with  the  flowers ;  with  birds  singing,  with  the  great 
silver  river  murmuring  by  without  the  wall  at  the  foot 
of  the  terrace,  with  the  voice  of  a  man  who  sat  beneath 
a  cherry-tree  reading  aloud  to  himself,  —  such  was  the 
garden  that  she  came  upon,  a  young  girl,  and  heavy  at 
heart. 

She  was  so  near  that  she  could  hear  the  words  of 
the  reader,  and  she  knew  the  piece  that  he  was  read 
ing  ;  for  you  must  remember  that  she  was  not  untaught, 
and  that  Darden  had  books. 

"  '  When  from  the  censer  clouds  of  fragrance  roll, 
And  swelling  organs  lift  the  rising-  soul, 
One  thought  of  thee  puts  all  the  pomp  to  flight, 
Priests,  tapers,  temples,  swim  before  my  sight '  "  — 

The  greyhound  ran  from  Audrey  to  the  man  who 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  151 

was  reading  these  verses  with  taste  and  expression, 
and  also  with  a  smile  half  sad  and  half  cynical.  He 
glanced  from  his  page,  saw  the  girl  where  she  stood 
against  the  dark  pillar  of  the  box,  tossed  aside  the 
book,  and  went  to  her  down  the  grassy  path  between 
rows  of  nodding  tulips.  "  Why,  child !  "  he  said. 
"  Did  you  come  up  like  a  flower  ?  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  in  my  garden,  little  maid.  Are  there  Indians 
without  ?  " 

At  least,  to  Audrey,  there  were  none  within.  She 
had  been  angered,  sick  at  heart  and  sore  afraid, 
but  she  was  no  longer  so.  In  this  world  that  she 
had  entered  it  was  good  to  be  alive ;  she  knew  that 
she  was  safe,  and  of  a  sudden  she  felt  that  the  sun 
shine  was  very  golden,  the  music  very  sweet.  To  Ha- 
ward,  looking  at  her  with  a  smile,  she  gave  a  folded 
paper  which  she  drew  from  the  bosom  of  her  gown. 
"  The  minister  sent  me  with  it,"  she  explained,  and 
curtsied  shyly. 

Haward  took  the  paper,  opened  it,  and  fell  to  poring 
over  the  crabbed  characters  with  which  it  was  adorned. 
"  Ay  ?  Gratulateth  himself  that  this  fortunate  parish 
hath  at  last  for  vestryman  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward ; 
knoweth  that,  seeing  I  am  what  I  am,  my  influence 
will  be  paramount  with  said  vestry ;  commendeth  him 
self  to  my  favor ;  beggeth  that  I  listen  not  to  charges 
made  by  a  factious  member  anent  a  vastly  magnified 
occurrence  at  the  French  ordinary ;  prayeth  that  he 
may  shortly  present  himself  at  Fair  View,  and  explain 
away  certain  calumnies  with  which  his  enemies  have 
poisoned  the  ears  of  the  Commissary ;  hopeth  that  I 
am  in  good  health ;  and  is  my  very  obedient  servant 
to  command.  Humph !  " 

He  let  the  paper  flutter  to  the  ground,  and  turned 


152  AUDREY 

to  Audrey  with  a  kindly  smile.  "  I  am  much  afraid 
that  this  man  of  the  church,  whom  I  gave  thee  for 
guardian,  child,  is  but  a  rascal,  after  all,  and  a  wolf 
in  sheep's  clothing.  But  let  him  go  hang  while  I  show 
you  my  garden." 

Going  closer,  he  glanced  at  her  keenly ;  then  went 
nearer  still,  and  touched  her  cheek  with  his  forefinger. 
"  You  have  been  crying,"  he  said.  "  There  were  In 
dians,  then.  How  many  and  how  strong,  Audrey  ?  " 

The  dark  eyes  that  met  his  were  the  eyes  of  the 
child  who,  in  the  darkness,  through  the  corn,  had  run 
from  him,  her  helper.  "  There  was  one,"  she  whis 
pered,  and  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

Haward  drew  her  to  the  seat  beneath  the  cherry- 
tree,  and  there,  while  he  sat  beside  her,  elbow  on  knee 
and  chin  on  hand,  watching  her,  she  told  him  of  Hugon. 
It  was  so  natural  to  tell  him.  When  she  had  made  an 
end  of  her  halting,  broken  sentences,  and  he  spoke  to 
her  gravely  and  kindly,  she  hung  upon  his  words,  and 
thought  him  wise  and  wonderful  as  a  king.  He  told 
her  that  he  would  speak  to  Darden,  and  did  not  de 
spair  of  persuading  that  worthy  to  forbid  the  trader 
his  house.  Also  he  told  her  that  in  this  settled,  plea 
sant,  every-day  Virginia,  and  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
a  maid,  however  poor  and  humble,  might  not  be  mar 
ried  against  her  will.  If  this  half-breed  had  threats 
to  utter,  there  was  always  the  law  of  the  land.  A  few 
hours  in  the  pillory  or  a  taste  of  the  sheriff's  whip 
might  not  be  amiss.  Finally,  if  the  trader  made  his 
suit  again,  Audrey  must  let  him  know,  and  Monsieur 
Jean  Hugon  should  be  taught  that  he  had  another  than 
a  helpless,  friendless  girl  to  deal  with. 

Audrey  listened  and  was  comforted,  but  the  shadow 
did  not  quite  leave  her  eyes.  "  He  is  waiting  for  me 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  153 

now,"  she  said  fearfully  to  Haward,  who  had  not 
missed  the  shadow.  "  He  followed  me  down  the 
creek,  and  is  waiting  tover  against  the  gate  in  the 
wall.  When  I  go  back  he  will  follow  me  again,  and 
at  last  I  will  have  to  cross  to  his  side.  And  then  he 
will  go  home  with  me,  and  make  me  listen  to  him. 
His  eyes  burn  me,  and  when  his  hand  touches  me  I 
see  —  I  see  "  — 

Her  frame  shook,  and  she  raised  to  his  gaze  a  coun 
tenance  suddenly  changed  into  Tragedy's  own.  "  I 
don't  know  why,"  she  said,  in  a  stricken  voice,  "  but 
of  them  all  that  I  kissed  good-by  that  night  I  now  see 
only  Molly.  I  suppose  she  was  about  as  old  as  I  am 
when  they  killed  her.  We  were  always  together.  J 
can't  remember  her  face  very  clearly ;  only  her  eyes, 
and  how  red  her  lips  were.  And  her  hair :  it  came  to 
her  knees,  and  mine  is  just  as  long.  For  a  long,  long 
time  after  you  went  away,  when  I  could  not  sleep  be 
cause  it  was  dark,  or  when  I  was  frightened  or  Mis 
tress  Deborah  beat  me,  I  saw  them  all ;  but  now  I  see 
only  Molly,  —  Molly  lying  there  dead." 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  garden,  broken  presently 
by  Haward.  "  Ay,  Molly,"  he  said  absently. 

With  his  hand  covering  his  lips  and  his  eyes  upon 
the  ground,  he  fell  into  a  brown  study.  Audrey  sat 
very  still  for  fear  that  she  might  disturb  him,  who  was 
so  kind  to  her.  A  passionate  gratitude  filled  her  young 
heart ;  she  would  have  traveled  round  the  world  upon 
her  knees  to  serve  him.  As  for  him,  he  was  not  think 
ing  of  the  mountain  girl,  the  oread  who,  in  the  days 
when  he  was  younger  and  his  heart  beat  high,  had 
caught  his  light  fancy,  tempting  him  from  his  com 
rades  back  to  the  cabin  in  the  valley,  to  look  again 
into  her  eyes  and  touch  the  brown  waves  of  her  hair. 


154  AUDREY 

She  was  ashes,  and  the  memory  of  her  stirred  him 
not. 

At  last  he  looked  up.  "I  myself  will  take  you 
home,  child.  This  fellow  shall  not  come  near  you. 
And  cease  to  think  of  these  gruesome  things  that  hap 
pened  long  ago.  You  are  young  and  fair ;  you  should 
be  happy.  I  will  see  to  it  that  "  — 

He  broke  off,  and  again  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
ground.  The  book  which  he  had  tossed  aside  was 
lying  upon  the  grass,  open  at  the  poem  which  he  had 
been  reading.  He  stooped  and  raised  the  volume,  and, 
closing  it,  laid  it  upon  the  bench  beside  her.  Presently 
he  laughed.  "  Come,  child !  "  he  said.  "  You  have 
youth.  I  begin  to  think  my  own  not  past  recall. 
Come  and  let  me  show  you  my  dial  that  I  have  just 
had  put  up." 

There  was  no  load  at  Audrey's  heart :  the  vision  of 
Molly  had  passed ;  the  fear  of  Hugon  was  a  dwindling 
cloud.  She  was  safe  in  this  old  sunny  garden,  with 
harm  shut  without.  And  as  a  flower  opens  to  the 
sunshine,  so  because  she  was  happy  she  grew  more 
fair.  Audrey  every  day,  Audrey  of  the  infrequent 
speech  and  the  wide  dark  eyes,  the  startled  air,  the 
shy,  fugitive  smiles,  —  that  was  not  Audrey  of  the 
garden.  Audrey  of  the  garden  had  shining  eyes,  a 
wild  elusive  grace,  laughter  as  silvery  as  that  which 
had  rung  from  her  sister's  lips,  years  agone,  beneath 
the  sugar-tree  in  the  far-off  blue  mountains,  quick 
gestures,  quaint  fancies  which  she  feared  not  to  speak 
out,  the  charm  of  mingled  humility  and  spirit ;  enough, 
in  short,  to  make  Audrey  of  the  garden  a  name  to 
conjure  with. 

They  came  to  the  sun-dial,  and  leaned  thereon. 
Around  its  rim  were  graved  two  lines  from  Herrick, 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  155 

and  Audrey  traced  the  letters  with  her  finger.  "  The 
philosophy  is  sound,"  remarked  Haward,  "  and  the 
advice  worth  the  taking.  Let  us  go  see  if  there  are 
any  rosebuds  to  gather  from  the  bushes  yonder. 
Damask  buds  should  look  well  against  your  hair, 
child." 

When  they  came  to  the  rosebushes  he  broke  for 
her  a  few  scarce-opened  buds,  and  himself  fastened 
them  in  the  coils  of  her  hair.  Innocent  and  glad  as 
she  was,  —  glad  even  that  he  thought  her  fair,  —  she 
trembled  beneath  his  touch,  and  knew  not  why  she 
trembled.  When  the  rosebuds  were  in  place  they 
went  to  see  the  clove  pinks,  and  when  they  had  seen 
the  clove  pinks  they  walked  slowly  up  another  alley 
of  box,  and  across  a  grass  plot  to  a  side  door  of  the 
house  ;  for  he  had  said  that  he  must  show  her  in  what 
great,  lonely  rooms  he  lived. 

Audrey  measured  the  height  and  breadth  of  the 
house  with  her  eyes.  "  It  is  a  large  place  for  one  to 
live  in  alone,"  she  said,  and  laughed.  "  There  's  a 
book  at  the  Widow  Constance's ;  Barbara  once  showed 
it  to  me.  It  is  all  about  a  pilgrim ;  and  there  's  a 
picture  of  a  great  square  house,  quite  like  this,  that 
was  a  giant's  castle,  —  Giant  Despair.  Good  giant, 
eat  me  not !  " 

Child,  woman,  spirit  of  the  woodland,  she  passed 
before  him  into  a  dim,  cool  room,  all  littered  with 
books.  "  My  library,"  said  Haward,  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand.  "  But  the  curtains  and  pictures  are  not 
hung,  nor  the  books  in  place.  Hast  any  schooling, 
little  maid  ?  Canst  read  ?  " 

Audrey  flushed  with  pride  that  she  could  tell  him 
that  she  was  not  ignorant ;  not  like  Barbara,  who 
could  not  read  the  giant's  name  in  the  pilgrim  book. 


156  AUDREY 

"The  crossroads  schoolmaster  taught  me,"  she 
explained.  "  He  has  a  scar  in  each  hand,  and  is  a 
very  wicked  man,  but  he  knows  more  than  the  Com 
missary  himself.  The  minister,  too,  has  a  cupboard 
filled  with  books,  and  he  buys  the  new  ones  as  the 
ships  bring  them  in.  When  I  have  time,  and  Mis 
tress  Deborah  will  not  let  me  go  to  the  woods,  I  read. 
And  I  remember  what  I  read.  I  could  "  — 

A  smile  trembled  upon  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  grew 
brighter.  Fired  by  the  desire  that  he  should  praise 
her  learning,  and  in  her  very  innocence  bold  as  a 
Wortley  or  a  Howe,  she  began  to  repeat  the  lines 
which  he  had  been  reading  beneath  the  cherry-tree :  — 

"  '  When  from  the  censer  clouds  of  fragrance  roll '"  — 

The  rhythm  of  the  words,  the  passion  of  the  thought, 
the  pleased  surprise  that  she  thought  she  read  in  his 
face,  the  gesture  of  his  hand,  all  spurred  her  on  from 
line  to  line,  sentence  to  sentence.  And  now  she  was 
not  herself,  but  that  other  woman,  and  she  was  giving 
voice  to  all  her  passion,  all  her  woe.  The  room  be 
came  a  convent  cell ;  her  ragged  dress  the  penitent's 
trailing  black.  That  Audrey,  lithe  of  mind  as  of 
body;  who  in  the  woods  seemed  the  spirit  of  the 
woods,  in  the  garden  the  spirit  of  the  garden,  011  the 
water  the  spirit  of  the  water,  —  that  this  Audrey,  in 
using  the  speech  of  the  poet,  should  embody  and  be 
come  the  spirit  of  that  speech  was  perhaps,  considering 
all  things,  not  so  strange.  At  any  rate,  and  however 
her  power  came  about,  at  that  moment,  in  Fair  View 
house,  a  great  actress  was  speaking. 

"  '  Fresh  blooming  Hope,  gay  daughter  of  the  skies, 
And  Faith'"  — 

The  speaker  lost  a  word,  hesitated,  became  confused. 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  157 

Finally  silence ;  then  the  Audrey  of  a  while  before, 
standing  with  heaving  bosom,  shy  as  a  fawn,  fearful 
that  she  had  not  pleased  him,  after  all.  For  if  she 
had  done  so,  surely  he  would  have  told  her  as  much. 
As  it  was,  he  had  said  but  one  word,  and  that  beneath 
his  breath,  "Elowa!" 

It  would  seem  that  her  fear  was  unfounded;  for 
when  he  did  speak,  there  were,  God  wot,  sugar 
plums  enough.  And  Audrey,  who  in  her  workaday 
world  was  always  blamed,  could  not  know  that  the 
praise  that  was  so  sweet  was  less  wholesome  than  the 
blame. 

Leaving  the  library  they  went  into  the  hall,  and 
from  the  hall  looked  into  great,  echoing,  half-furnished 
rooms.  All  about  lay  packing-cases,  many  of  them 
open,  with  rich  stuffs  streaming  from  them.  Orna 
ments  were  huddled  on  tables,  mirrors  and  pictures 
leaned  their  faces  to  the  walls ;  everywhere  was  dis 
order. 

"  The  negroes  are  careless,  and  to-day  I  held  their 
hands,"  said  Haward.  "  I  must  get  some  proper  per 
son  to  see  to  this  gear." 

Up  stairs  and  down  they  went  through  the  house, 
that  seemed  very  large  and  very  still,  and  finally  they 
came  out  of  the  great  front  door,  and  down  the  stone 
steps  on  to  the  terrace.  Below  them,  sparkling  in  the 
sunshine,  lay  the  river,  the  opposite  shore  all  in  a 
haze  of  light.  "  I  must  go  home,"  Audrey  shyly  re 
minded  him,  whereat  he  smiled  assent,  and  they  went, 
not  through  the  box  alley  to  the  gate  in  the  wall,  but 
down  the  terrace,  and  out  upon  the  hot  brown  boards 
of  the  landing.  Haward,  stepping  into  a  boat,  handed 
her  to  a  seat  in  the  stern,  and  himself  took  the  oars. 
Leaving  the  landing,  they  came  to  the  creek  and 


158  AUDREY 

entered  it.  Presently  they  were  gliding  beneath  the 
red  brick  wall  with  the  honeysuckle  atop.  On  the 
opposite  grassy  shore,  seated  in  a  blaze  of  noon  sun 
shine,  was  Hugon. 

They  in  the  boat  took  no  notice.  Haward,  rowing, 
spoke  evenly  on,  his  theme  himself  and  the  gay  and 
lonely  life  he  had  led  these  eleven  years ;  and  Audrey, 
though  at  first  sight  of  the  waiting  figure  she  had 
paled  and  trembled,  was  too  safe,  too  happy,  to  give 
to  trouble  any  part  of  this  magic  morning.  She  kept 
her  eyes  on  Haward's  face,  and  almost  forgot  the  man 
who  had  risen  from  the  grass  and  in  silence  was  fol 
lowing  them. 

Now,  had  the  trader,  in  his  hunting  shirt  and  leg 
gings,  his  moccasins  and  fur  cap,  been  walking  in  the 
great  woods,  this  silence,  even  with  others  in  com 
pany,  would  have  been  natural  enough  to  his  Indian 
blood  ;  but  Monsieur  Jean  Hugon,  in  peruke  and 
laced  coat,  walking  in  a  civilized  country,  with  words 
a-plenty  and  as  hot  as  fire-water  in  his  heart,  and  none 
upon  his  tongue,  was  a  figure  strange  and  sinister. 
He  watched  the  two  in  the  boat  with  an  impassive 
face,  and  he  walked  like  an  Indian  on  an  enemy's 
trail,  so  silently  that  he  scarce  seemed  to  breathe,  so 
lightly  that  his  heavy  boots  failed  to  crush  the  flowers 
or  the  tender  grass. 

Haward  rowed  on,  telling  Audrey  stories  of  the 
town,  of  great  men  whose  names  she  knew,  and  beau 
tiful  ladies  of  whom  she  had  never  heard ;  and  she 
sat  before  him  with  her  slim  brown  hands  folded  in 
her  lap  and  the  rosebuds  withering  in  her  hair,  while 
through  the  reeds  and  the  grass  and  the  bushes  of  the 
bank  over  against  them  strode  Hugon  in  his  Blenheim 
wig  and  his  wine-colored  coat.  Well-nigh  together 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  159 

the  three  reached  the  stake  driven  in  among  the  reeds, 
a  hundred  yards  below  the  minister's  house.  Haward 
fastened  the  boat,  and,  motioning  to  Audrey  to  stay 
for  the  moment  where  she  was,  stepped  out  upon  the 
bank  to  confront  the  trader,  who,  walking  steadily 
and  silently  as  ever,  was  almost  upon  them. 

But  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  Hugon,  with  his 
forest  instincts,  preferred,  when  he  wished  to  speak 
to  the  point,  to  speak  in  the  dark.  He  made  no 
pause ;  only  looked  with  his  fierce  black  eyes  at  the 
quiet,  insouciant,  fine  gentleman  standing  with  folded 
arms  between  him  and  the  boat ;  then  passed  on, 
going  steadily  up  the  creek  toward  the  bend  where 
the  water  left  the  open  smiling  fields  and  took  to  the 
forest.  He  never  looked  back,  but  went  like  a  hunter 
with  his  prey  before  him.  Presently  the  shadows  of 
the  forest  touched  him,  and  Audrey  and  Haward  were 
left  alone. 

The  latter  laughed.  "  If  his  courage  is  of  the 
quality  of  his  lace  —  What,  cowering,  child,  and  the 
tears  in  your  eyes !  You  were  braver  when  you  were 
not  so  tall,  in  those  mountain  days.  Nay,  no  need  to 
wet  your  shoe." 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and  set  her  feet  upon 
firm  grass.  "  How  long  since  I  carried  you  across  a 
stream  and  up  a  dark  hillside !  "  he  said.  "  And  yet 
to-day  it  seems  but  yesternight !  Now,  little  maid, 
the  Indian  has  run  away,  and  the  path  to  the  house  is 
clear." 

In  his  smoke-filled,  untidy  best  room  Darden  sat  at 
table,  his  drink  beside  him,  his  pipe  between  his 
fingers,  and  open  before  him  a  book  of  jests,  propped 
by  a  tome  of  divinity.  His  wife  coming  in  from  the 


160  AUDREY 

kitchen,  he  burrowed  in  the  litter  upon  the  table  until 
he  found  an  open  letter,  which  he  flung  toward  her. 
"  The  Commissary  threatens  again,  damn  him ! "  he 
said  between  smoke  puffs.  "  It  seems  that  t'  other 
night,  when  I  was  in  my  cups  at  the  tavern,  Le  Neve 
and  the  fellow  who  has  Ware  Creek  parish  —  I  forget 
his  name  —  must  needs  come  riding  by.  I  was  dicing 
with  Paris.  Hugon  held  the  stakes.  I  dare  say  we 
kept  not  mum.  And  out  of  pure  brotherly  love  and 
charity,  my  good,  kind  gentlemen  ride  on  to  Williams- 
burgh  on  a  tale-bearing  errand  !  Is  that  child  never 
coming  back,  Deborah  ?  " 

"  She  's  coming  now,"  answered  his  wife,  with  her 
eyes  upon  the  letter.  "  I  was  watching  from  the 
upper  window.  He  rowed  her  up  the  creek  himself/' 

The  door  opened,  and  Audrey  entered  the  room. 
Darden  turned  heavily  in  his  chair,  and  took  the  long 
pipe  from  between  his  teeth.  "  Well  ? "  he  said. 
"  You  gave  him  my  letter  ?  " 

Audrey  nodded.  Her  eyes  were  dreamy  ;  the  red 
of  the  buds  in  her  hair  had  somehow  stolen  to  her 
cheeks  ;  she  could  scarce  keep  her  lips  from  smiling. 
"  He  bade  me  tell  you  to  come  to  supper  with  him  on 
Monday,"  she  said.  "  And  the  Falcon  that  we  saw 
come  in  last  week  brought  furnishing  for  the  great 
house.  Oh,  Mistress  Deborah,  the  most  beautiful 
things  !  The  rooms  are  all  to  be  made  fine  ;  and  the 
negro  women  do  not  the  work  aright,  and  he  wants 
some  one  to  oversee  them.  He  says  that  he  has  learned 
that  in  England  Mistress  Deborah  was  own  woman  to 
my  Lady  Squander,  and  so  should  know  about  hang 
ings  and  china  and  the  placing  of  furniture.  And  he 
asks  that  she  come  to  Fair  View  morning  after  morn 
ing  until  the  house  is  in  order.  He  wishes  me  to 


AUDREY  OF  THE  GARDEN  161 

come,  too.  Mistress  Deborah  will  much  oblige  him, 
he  says,  and  he  will  not  forget  her  kindness." 

Somewhat  out  of  breath,  but  very  happy,  she  looked 
with  eager  eyes  from  one  guardian  to  the  other. 
Darden  emptied  and  refilled  his  pipe,  scattering  the 
ashes  upon  the  book  of  jests.  "  Very  good,"  he  said 
briefly. 

Into  the  thin  visage  of  the  ex-waiting-woman,  who 
had  been  happier  at  my  Lady  Squander's  than  in  a 
Virginia  parsonage,  there  crept  a  tightened  smile. 
In  her  way,  when  she  was  not  in  a  passion,  she  was 
fond  of  Audrey  ;  but,  in  temper  or  out  of  temper,  she 
was  fonder  of  the  fine  things  which  for  a  few  days  she 
might  handle  at  Fair  View  house.  And  the  gratitude 
of  the  master  thereof  might  appear  in  coins,  or  in  an 
order  on  his  store  for  silk  and  lace.  When,  in  her 
younger  days,  at  Bath  or  in  town,  she  had  served  fine 
mistresses,  she  had  been  given  many  a  guinea  for 
carrying  a  note  or  contriving  an  interview,  and  in 
changing  her  estate  she  had  not  changed  her  code  of 
morals.  "  We  must  oblige  Mr.  Haward,  of  course," 
she  said  complacently.  "I  warrant  you  that  I  can 
give  things  an  air !  There 's  not  a  parlor  in  this 
parish  that  does  not  set  my  teeth  on  edge !  Now  at 
my  Lady  Squander's" —  She  embarked  upon  re 
miniscences  of  past  splendor,  checked  only  by  her 
husband's  impatient  demand  for  dinner. 

Audrey,  preparing  to  follow  her  into  the  kitchen, 
was  stopped,  as  she  would  have  passed  the  table,  by 
the  minister's  heavy  hand.  "  The  roses  at  Fair  View 
bloom  early,"  he  said,  turning  her  about  that  he 
might  better  see  the  red  cluster  in  her  hair.  "  Look 
you,  Audrey !  I  wish  you  no  great  harm,  child. 
You  mind  me  at  times  of  one  that  I  knew  many  years 


162  AUDREY 

ago,  before  ever  I  was  chaplain  to  my  Lord  Squander 
or  husband  to  my  Lady  Squander's  waiting-woman. 
A  hunter  may  use  a  decoy,  and  he  may  also,  on  the 
whole,  prefer  to  keep  that  decoy  as  good  as  when  't  was 
made.  Buy  not  thy  roses  too  dearly,  Audrey." 

To  Audrey  he  spoke  in  riddles.  She  took  from 
her  hair  the  loosened  buds,  and  looked  at  them  lying 
in  her  hand.  "  I  did  not  buy  them,"  she  said.  "  They 
grew  in  the  sun  on  the  south  side  of  the  great  house, 
and  Mr.  Haward  gave  them  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN 

JUNE  came  to  tide-water  Virginia  with  long,  warm 
days  and  with  the  odor  of  many  roses.  Day  by  day 
the  cloudless  sunshine  visited  the  land  ;  night  by  night 
the  large  pale  stars  looked  into  its  waters.  It  was  a 
slumberous  land,  of  many  creeks  and  rivers  that  were 
wide,  slow,  and  deep,  of  tobacco  fields  and  lofty,  sol 
emn  forests,  of  vague  marshes,  of  white  mists,  of  a 
haze  of  heat  far  and  near.  The  moon  of  blossoms 
was  past,  and  the  red  men  —  few  in  number  now  — 
had  returned  from  their  hunting,  and  lay  in  the  shade 
of  the  trees  in  the  villages  that  the  English  had  left 
them,  while  the  women  brought  them  fish  from  the 
weirs,  and  strawberries  from  the  vines  that  carpeted 
every  poisoned  field  or  neglected  clearing.  The  black 
men  toiled  amidst  the  tobacco  and  the  maize  ;  at  noon 
tide  it  was  as  hot  in  the  fields  as  in  the  middle  passage, 
and  the  voices  of  those  who  sang  over  their  work  fell 
to  a  dull  crooning.  The  white  men  who  were  bound 
served  listlessly ;  they  that  were  well  were  as  lazy  as 
the  weather ;  they  that  were  newly  come  over  and  ill 
with  the  "  seasoning  "  fever  tossed  upon  their  pallets, 
longing  for  the  cooling  waters  of  home.  The  white 
men  who  were  free  swore  that  the  world,  though  fair, 
was  warm,  and  none  walked  if  he  could  ride.  The 
sunny,  dusty  roads  were  left  for  shadowed  bridle  paths ; 


164  AUDREY 

in  a  land  where  most  places  could  be  reached  by  boat, 
the  water  would  have  been  the  highway  but  that  the 
languid  air  would  not  fill  the  sails.  It  was  agreed 
that  the  heat  was  unnatural,  and  that,  likely  enough, 
there  would  be  a  deal  of  fever  during  the  summer. 

But  there  was  thick  shade  in  the  Fair  View  gar 
den,  and  when  there  was  air  at  all  it  visited  the  terrace 
above  the  river.  The  rooms  of  the  house  were  large 
and  high-pitched ;  draw  to  the  shutters,  and  they  be 
came  as  cool  as  caverns.  Around  the  place  the  heat 
lay  in  wait:  heat  of  wide,  shadowless  fields,  where 
Ha  ward's  slaves  toiled  from  morn  to  eve ;  heat  of  the 
great  river,  unstirred  by  any  wind,  hot  and  sleeping 
beneath  the  blazing  sun ;  heat  of  sluggish  creeks  and 
of  the  marshes,  shadeless  as  the  fields.  Once  reach 
the  mighty  trees  drawn  like  a  cordon  around  house 
and  garden,  and  there  was  escape. 

To  and  fro  and  up  and  down  in  the  house  went  the 
erst  waiting-woman  to  my  Lady  Squander,  carrying 
matters  with  a  high  hand.  The  negresses  who  worked 
under  her  eye  found  her  a  hard  taskmistress.  Was  a 
room  clean  to-day,  to-morrow  it  was  found  that  there 
was  dust  upon  the  polished  floor,  finger  marks  on  the 
paneled  walls.  The  same  furniture  must  be  placed 
now  in  this  room,  now  in  that ;  china  slowly  washed 
and  bestowed  in  one  closet  transferred  to  another ;  an 
eternity  spent  upon  the  household  linen,  another  on' 
the  sewing  and  resewing,  the  hanging  and  rehanging, 
of  damask  curtains.  The  slaves,  silent  when  the 
greenish  eyes  and  tight,  vixenish  face  were  by,  chat 
tered,  laughed,  and  sung  when  they  were  left  alone. 
If  they  fell  idle,  and  little  was  done  of  a  morning, 
they  went  unrebuked;  thoroughness,  and  not  haste, 
appearing  to  be  Mistress  Deborah's  motto. 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN  165 

The  master  of  Fair  View  found  it  too  noisy  in  his 
house  to  sit  therein,  and  too  warm  to  ride  abroad. 
There  were  left  the  seat  built  round  the  cherry-tree  in 
the  garden,  the  long,  cool  box  walk,  and  the  terrace 
with  a  summer-house  at  either  end.  It  was  pleasant 
to  read  out  of  doors,  pacing  the  box  walk,  or  sitting 
beneath  the  cherry-tree,  with  the  ripening  fruit  over 
head.  If  the  book  was  long  in  reading,  if  morning  by 
morning  Ha  ward's  finger  slipped  easily  in  between  the 
selfsame  leaves,  perhaps  it  was  the  fault  of  poet  or 
philosopher.  If  Audrey's  was  the  fault,  she  knew  it 
not. 

How  could  she  know  it,  who  knew  herself,  that  she 
was  a  poor,  humble  maid,  whom  out  of  pure  charity 
and  knightly  tenderness  for  weak  and  sorrowful  things 
he  long  ago  had  saved,  since  then  had  maintained,  now 
was  kind  to ;  and  knew  him,  that  he  was  learned  and 
great  and  good,  the  very  perfect  gentle  knight  who,  as 
he  rode  to  win  the  princess,  yet  could  stoop  from  his 
saddle  to  raise  and  help  the  herd  girl  ?  She  had  found 
of  late  that  she  was  often  wakeful  of  nights  ;  when  this 
happened,  she  lay  and  looked  out  of  her  window  at  the 
stars  and  wondered  about  the  princess.  She  was  sure 
that  the  princess  and  the  lady  who  had  given  her  the 
guinea  were  one. 

In  the  great  house  she  would  have  worked  her 
fingers  to  the  bone.  Her  strong  young  arms  lifted 
heavy  weights ;  her  quick  feet  ran  up  and  down  stairs 
for  this  or  that;  she  would  have  taken  the  waxed 
cloths  from  the  negroes,  and  upon  her  knees  and  with 
willing  hands  have  made  to  shine  like  mirrors  the 
floors  that  were  to  be  trodden  by  knight  and  princess. 
But  almost  every  morning,  before  she  had  worked  an 
hour,  Haward  would  call  to  her  from  the  box  walk 


166  AUDREY 

or  the  seat  beneath  the  cherry-tree  ;  and  "  Go,  child/* 
would  say  Mistress  Deborah,  looking  up  from  her  task 
of  the  moment. 

The  garden  continued  to  be  the  enchanted  garden. 
To  gather  its  flowers,  red  and  white,  to  pace  with  him 
cool  paved  walks  between  walls  of  scented  box,  to  sit 
beside  him  beneath  the  cherry-tree  or  upon  the  grassy 
terrace,  looking  out  upon  the  wide,  idle  river,  —  it  was 
dreamy  bliss,  a  happiness  too  rare  to  last.  There  was 
no  harm ;  not  that  she  ever  dreamed  there  could  be. 
The  house  overlooked  garden  and  terrace  ;  the  slaves 
passed  and  repassed  the  open  windows;  Juba  came 
and  went;  now  and  then  Mistress  Deborah  herself 
would  sally  forth  to  receive  instructions  concerning 
this  or  that  from  the  master  of  the  house.  And  every 
day,  at  noon,  the  slaves  drew  to  all  the  shutters  save 
those  of  the  master's  room,  and  the  minister's  wife  and 
ward  made  their  curtsies  and  went  home.  The  latter, 
like  a  child,  counted  the  hours  upon  the  clock  until 
the  next  morning ;  but  then  she  was  not  used  to  happi 
ness,  and  the  wine  of  it  made  her  slightly  drunken. 

The  master  of  Fair  View  told  himself  that  there 
was  infection  in  this  lotus  air  of  Virginia.  A  fever 
ran  in  his  veins  that  made  him  languid  of  will,  some 
what  sluggish  of  thought,  willing  to  spend  one  day 
like  another,  and  all  in  a  long  dream.  Sometimes,  in 
the  afternoons,  when  he  was  alone  in  the  garden  or 
upon  the  terrace,  with  the  house  blank  and  silent  be 
hind  him,  the  slaves  gone  to  the  quarters,  he  tossed 
aside  his  book,  and,  with  his  chin  upon  his  hand  and 
his  eyes  upon  the  sweep  of  the  river,  first  asked  himself 
whither  he  was  going,  and  then,  finding  no  satisfac 
tory  answer,  fell  to  brooding.  Once,  going  into  the 
house,  he  chanced  to  come  upon  his  full-length  reflec- 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN          167 

tion  in  a  mirror  newly  hung,  and  stopped  short  to 
gaze  upon  himself.  The  parlor  of  his  lodgings  at 
Williamsburgh  and  the  last  time  that  he  had  seen 
Evelyn  came  to  him,  conjured  up  by  the  memory  of 
certain  words  of  his  own. 

46  A  truer  glass  might  show  a  shrunken  figure,"  he 
repeated,  and  with  a  quick  and  impatient  sigh  he 
looked  at  the  image  in  the  mirror. 

To  the  eye,  at  least,  the  figure  was  not  shrunken. 
It  was  that  of  a  man  still  young,  and  of  a  handsome 
face  and  much  distinction  of  bearing.  The  dress 
was  perfect  in  its  quiet  elegance  ;  the  air  of  the  man 
composed,  —  a  trifle  sad,  a  trifle  mocking.  Haward 
snapped  his  fingers  at  the  reflection.  "  The  portrait 
of  a  gentleman,"  he  said,  and  passed  on. 

That  night,  in  his  own  room,  he  took  from  an  escri 
toire  a  picture  of  Evelyn  Byrd,  done  in  miniature 
after  a  painting  by  a  pupil  of  Kneller,  and,  carrying 
it  over  to  the  light  of  the  myrtle  candles  upon  the 
table,  sat  down  and  fell  to  studying  it.  After  a  while 
he  let  it  drop  from  his  hand,  and  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  thinking. 

The  night  air,  rising  slightly,  bent  back  the  flame 
of  the  candles,  around  which  moths  were  fluttering, 
and  caused  strange  shadows  upon  the  walls.  They 
were  thick  about  the  curtained  bed  whereon  had  died 
the  elder  Haward,  —  a  proud  man,  choleric,  and  hard 
to  turn  from  his  purposes.  Into  the  mind  of  his  son, 
sitting  staring  at  these  shadows,  came  the  fantastic 
notion  that  amongst  them,  angry  and  struggling  vainly 
for  speech,  might  be  his  father's  shade.  The  night 
was  feverish,  of  a  heat  and  lassitude  to  foster  grotesque 
and  idle  fancies.  Haward  smiled,  and  spoke  aloud  to 
his  imaginary  ghost. 


168  AUDREY 

"  You  need  not  strive  for  speech,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  what  you  would  say.  Was  it  for  this  I  built 
this  house,  bought  land  and  slaves  ?  •  .  .  Fair  View 
and  Westover,  Westover  and  Fair  View.  A  lady 
that  will  not  wed  thee  because  she  loves  thee  I  Zoons, 
Marmaduke!  thou  puttest  me  beside  my  patience! 
.  .  .  As  for  this  other,  set  no  nameless,  barefoot 
wench  where  sat  thy  mother!  King  Cophetua  and 
the  beggar  maid,  indeed  !  I  warrant  you  Cophetua 
was  something  under  three-and-ihirty  !  " 

Haward  ceased  to  speak  for  his  father,  and  sighed 
for  himself.  "  Moral :  Three-and-thirty  must  be  wiser 
in  his  day  and  generation."  He  rose  from  his  chair, 
and  began  to  walk  the  room.  "  If  not  Cophetua,  what 
then,  —  what  then  ?  "  Passing  the  table,  he  took  up 
the  miniature  again.  "The  villain  of  the  piece,  I 
suppose,  Evelyn  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  pure  and  pensive  face  seemed  to  answer  him. 
He  put  the  picture  hastily  down,  and  recommenced  his 
pacing  to  and  fro.  From  the  garden  below  came  the 
heavy  odor  of  lilies,  and  the  whisper  of  the  river  tried 
the  nerves.  Haward  went  to  the  window,  and,  lean 
ing  out,  looked,  as  now  each  night  he  looked,  up  and 
across  the  creek  toward  the  minister's  house.  To 
night  there  was  no  light  to  mark  it ;  it  was  late,  and 
all  the  world  without  his  room  was  in  darkness.  He 
sat  down  in  the  window  seat,  looked  out  upon  the  stars 
and  listened  to  the  river.  An  hour  had  passed  before 
he  turned  back  to  the  room,  where  the  candles  had 
burned  low.  "  I  will  go  to  Westover  to-morrow,"  he 
said.  "  God  knows,  I  should  be  a  villain  "  — 

He  locked  the  picture  of  Evelyn  within  his  desk, 
drank  his  wine  and  water,  and  went  to  bed,  strongly 
resolved  upon  retreat.  In  the  morning  he  said,  "  I 


THE   PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN          169 

will  go  to  Westover  this  afternoon  ;  "  and  in  the  after 
noon  he  said,  "  I  will  go  to-morrow."  When  the  mor 
row  came,  he  found  that  the  house  lacked  but  one 
day  of  being  finished,  and  that  there  was  therefore 
no  need  for  him  to  go  at  all. 

Mistress  Deborah  was  loath  enough  to  take  leave 
of  damask  and  mirrors  and  ornaments  of  china, — 
the  latter  fine  enough  and  curious  enough  to  remind 
her  of  Lady  Squander's  own  drawing-room  ;  but  the 
leaf  of  paper  which  Ha  ward  wrote  upon,  tore  from  his 
pocket-book,  and  gave  her  provided  consolation.  Her 
thanks  were  very  glib,  her  curtsy  was  very  deep.  She 
was  his  most  obliged,  humble  servant,  and  if  she  could 
serve  him  again  he  would  make  her  proud.  Would  he 
not,  now,  some  day,  row  up  creek  to  their  poor  house, 
and  taste  of  her  perry  and  Shrewsbury  cakes  ?  Au 
drey,  standing  by,  raised  her  eyes,  and  made  of  the 
request  a  royal  invitation. 

For  a  week  or  more  Ha  ward  abode  upon  his  planta 
tion,  alone  save  for  his  servants  and  slaves.  Each  day 
he  sent  for  the  overseer,  and  listened  gravely  while 
that  worthy  expounded  to  him  all  the  details  of  the 
condition  and  conduct  of  the  estate  ;  in  the  early  morn 
ing  and  the  late  afternoon  he  rode  abroad  through 
his  fields  and  forests.  Mill  and  ferry  and  rolling 
house  were  visited,  and  the  quarters  made  his  ac 
quaintance.  At  the  creek  quarter  and  the  distant 
ridge  quarter  were  bestowed  the  newly  bought,  the 
sullen  and  the  refractory  of  his  chattels.  When,  after 
sunset,  and  the  fields  were  silent,  he  rode  past  the 
cabins,  coal-black  figures,  new  from  the  slave  deck, 
still  seamed  at  wrist  and  ankle,  mowed  and  jabbered 
at  him  from  over  their  bowls  of  steaming  food ; 
others,  who  had  forgotten  the  jungle  and  the  slaver, 


170  AUDREY 

answered,  when  he  spoke  to  them,  in  strange  English  ; 
others,  born  in  Virginia,  and  remembering  when  he 
used  to  ride  that  way  with  his  father,  laughed,  called 
him  "  Marse  Duke,"  and  agreed  with  him  that  the  crop 
was  looking  mighty  well.  With  the  dark  he  reached 
the  great  house,  and  negroes  from  the  home  quarter 
took  his  horse,  while  Juba  lighted  him  through  the 
echoing  hall  into  the  lonely  rooms. 

From  the  white  quarter  he  procured  a  facile  lad  who 
could  read  and  write,  and  who,  through  too  much 
quickness  of  wit,  had  failed  to  prosper  in  England. 
Him  he  installed  as  secretary,  and  forthwith  began  a 
correspondence  with  friends  in  England,  as  well  as  a 
long  poem  which  was  to  serve  the  double  purpose  of 
giving  Mr.  Pope  a  rival  and  of  occupying  the  mind  of 
Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward.  The  letters  were  witty  and 
graceful,  the  poem  was  the  same  ;  but  on  the  third 
day  the  secretary,  pausing  for  the  next  word  that 
should  fall  from  his  master's  lips,  waited  so  long  that 
he  dropped  asleep.  When  he  awoke,  Mr.  Haward 
was  slowly  tearing  into  bits  the  work  that  had  been 
done  on  the  poem.  "  It  will  have  to  wait  upon  my 
mood,"  he  said.  "  Seal  up  the  letter  to  Lord  Hervey, 
boy,  and  then  begone  to  the  fields.  If  I  want  you 
again,  I  will  send  for  you." 

The  next  day  he  proposed  to  himself  to  ride  to  Wil- 
liamsburgh  and  see  his  acquaintances  there.  But 
even  as  he  crossed  the  room  to  strike  the  bell  for  Juba 
a  distaste  for  the  town  and  its  people  came  upon  him. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  instead  he  might  take  the 
barge  and  be  rowed  up  the  river  to  the  Jaquelins' 
or  to  Green  Spring ;  but  in  a  moment  this  plan  also 
became  repugnant.  Finally  he  went  out  upon  the 
terrace,  and  sat  there  the  morning  through,  staring  at 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN          171 

the  river.  That  afternoon  he  sent  a  negro  to  the  store 
with  a  message  for  the  storekeeper. 

The  Highlander,  obeying  the  demand  for  his  com 
pany,  —  the  third  or  fourth  since  his  day  at  Williams- 
burgh, —  came  shortly  before  twilight  to  the  great 
house,  and  found  the  master  thereof  still  upon  the  ter 
race,  sitting  beneath  an  oak,  with  a  small  table  and  a 
bottle  of  wine  beside  him. 

"  Ha,  Mr.  MacLean ! "  he  cried,  as  the  other  ap 
proached.  "  Some  days  have  passed  since  last  we  laid 
the  ghosts  !  I  had  meant  to  sooner  improve  our  ac 
quaintance.  But  my  house  has  been  in  disorder,  and 
I  myself,"  —  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  face  as  if 
to  wipe  away  the  expression  into  which  it  had  been 
set,  —  "I  myself  have  been  poor  company.  There  is 
a  witchery  in  the  air  of  this  place.  I  am  become  but 
a  dreamer  of  dreams." 

As  he  spoke  he  motioned  his  guest  to  an  empty 
chair,  and  began  to  pour  wine  for  them  both.  His 
hand  was  not  quite  steady,  and  there  was  about  him 
a  restlessness  of  aspect  most  unnatural  to  the  man. 
The  storekeeper  thought  him  looking  worn,  and  as 
though  he  had  passed  sleepless  nights. 

MacLean  sat  down,  and  drew  his  wineglass  toward 
him.  "  It  is  the  heat,"  he  said.  "  Last  night,  in  the 
store,  I  felt  that  I  was  stifling;  and  I  left  it,  and  lay 
on  the  bare  ground  without.  A  star  shot  down  the 
sky,  and  I  wished  that  a  wind  as  swift  and  strong 
would  rise  and  sweep  the  land  out  to  sea.  When  the 
day  comes  that  I  die,  I  wish  to  die  a  fierce  death.  It 
is  best  to  die  in  battle,  for  then  the  mind  is  raised, 
and  you  taste  all  life  in  the  moment  before  you  go. 
If  a  man  achieves  not  that,  then  struggle  with  earth 
or  air  or  the  waves  of  the  sea  is  desirable.  Driving 


172  AUDREY 

sleet,  armies  of  the  snow,  night  and  trackless  moun 
tains,  the  leap  of  the  torrent,  swollen  lakes  where  kel 
pies  lie  in  wait,  wind  on  the  sea  with  the  black  reef 
and  the  charging  breakers,  —  it  is  well  to  dash  one's 
force  against  the  force  of  these,  and  to  die  after  fight 
ing.  But  in  this  cursed  land  of  warmth  and  ease  a 
man  dies  like  a  dog  that  is  old  and  hath  lain  winter 
and  summer  upon  the  hearthstone."  He  drank  his 
wine,  and  glanced  again  at  Haward.  "  I  did  not 
know  that  you  were  here,"  he  said.  "Saunderson 
told  me  that  you  were  going  to  Westover." 

"  I  was,  —  I  am,"  answered  Haward  briefly.  Pre 
sently  he  roused  himself  from  the  brown  study  into 
which  he  had  fallen. 

"  'T  is  the  heat,  as  you  say.  It  enervates.  For  my 
part,  I  am  willing  that  your  wind  should  arise.  But 
it  will  not  blow  to-night.  There  is  not  a  breath  ;  the 
river  is  like  glass."  He  raised  the  wine  to  his  lips,  and 
drank  deeply.  "  Come,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  What 
did  you  at  the  store  to-day  ?  And  does  Mistress  True- 
love  despair  of  your  conversion  to  thee  and  ihou,  and 
peace  with  all  mankind  ?  Hast  procured  an  enemy  to 
fill  the  place  I  have  vacated  ?  I  trust  he  's  no  scurvy 
foe." 

"  I  will  take  your  questions  in  order,"  answered  the 
other  sententiously.  "  This  morning  I  sold  a  deal 
of  fine  china  to  a  parcel  of  fine  ladies  who  came  by 
water  from  Jamestown,  and  were  mightily  concerned  to 
know  whether  your  worship  was  gone  to  Westover,  or 
had  instead  (as  'twas  reported)  shut  yourself  up  in 
Fair  View  house.  And  this  afternoon  came  over  in  a 
periagua,  from  the  other  side,  a  very  young  gentle 
man  with  money  in  hand  to  buy  a  silver-fringed  glove. 
'  They  are  sold  in  pairs,'  said  I.  '  Fellow,  I  require 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN          173 

but  one,'  said  he.  '  If  Dick  Allen,  who  hath  slandered 
me  to  Mistress  Betty  Cocke,  dareth  to  appear  at  the 
merrymaking  at  Colonel  Harrison's  to-night,  his  cheek 
and  this  glove  shall  come  together ! '  '  Nathless,  you 
must  pay  for  both,'  I  told  him ;  and  the  upshot  is  that 
he  leaves  with  me  a  gold  button  as  earnest  that  he  will 
bring  the  remainder  of  the  price  before  the  duel  to 
morrow.  That  Quaker  maiden  of  whom  you  ask  hath 
a  soul  like  the  soul  of  Colna-dona,  of  whom  Murdoch, 
the  harper  of  Coll,  used  to  sing.  She  is  fair  as  a 
flower  after  winter,  and  as  tender  as  the  rose  flush  in 
which  swims  yonder  star.  When  I  am  with  her,  al 
most  she  persuades  me  to  think  ill  of  honest  hatred, 
and  to  pine  no  longer  that  it  was  not  I  that  had  the 
killing  of  Ewin  Mackinnon."  He  gave  a  short  laugh, 
and  stooping  picked  up  an  oak  twig  from  the  ground, 
and  with  deliberation  broke  it  into  many  small  pieces. 
"Almost,  but  not  quite,"  he  said.  "There  was  in 
that  feud  nothing  illusory  or  fantastic ;  nothing  of  the 
quality  that  marked,  mayhap,  another  feud  of  my  own 
making.  If  I  have  found  that  in  this  latter  case  I 
took  a  wraith  and  dubbed  it  my  enemy ;  that,  think 
ing  I  followed  a  foe,  I  followed  a  friend  instead  "  — 
He  threw  away  the  bits  of  bark,  and  straightened 
himself.  "  A  friend !  "  he  said,  drawing  his  breath. 
"  Save  for  this  Quaker  family,  I  have  had  no  friend 
for  many  a  year !  And  I  cannot  talk  to  them  of  honor 
and  warfare  and  the  wide  world."  His  speech  was 
sombre,  but  in  his  eyes  there  was  an  eagerness  not  with 
out  pathos. 

The  mood  of  the  Gael  chimed  with  the  present 
mood  of  the  Saxon.  As  unlike  in  their  natures  as 
their  histories,  men  would  have  called  them ;  and  yet, 
far  away,  in  dim  recesses  of  the  soul,  at  long  distances 


174  AUDREY 

from  the  flesh,  each  recognized  the  other.  And  it  was 
an  evening,  too,  in  which  to  take  care  of  other  things 
than  the  ways  and  speech  of  every  day.  The  heat,  the 
hush,  and  the  stillness  appeared  well-nigh  preter 
natural.  A  sadness  breathed  over  the  earth;  all 
things  seemed  new  and  yet  old ;  across  the  spectral 
river  the  dim  plains  beneath  the  afterglow  took  the 
seeming  of  battlefields. 

"A  friend !  "  said  Ha  ward.  "  There  are  many  men 
who  call  themselves  my  friends.  I  am  melancholy  to 
day,  restless,  and  divided  against  myself.  I  do  not 
know  one  of  my  acquaintance  whom  I  would  have 
called  to  be  melancholy  with  me  as  I  have  called  you." 
He  leaned  across  the  table  and  touched  MacLean's 
hand  that  was  somewhat  hurriedly  fingering  the  wine 
glass.  "  Come  !  "  he  said.  "  Loneliness  may  haunt 
the  level  fields  as  well  as  the  ways  that  are  rugged  and 
steep.  How  many  times  have  we  held  converse  since 
that  day  I  found  you  in  charge  of  my  store  ?  Often 
enough,  I  think,  for  each  to  know  the  other's  quality. 
Our  lives  have  been  very  different,  and  yet  I  believe 
that  we  are  akin.  For  myself,  I  should  be  glad  to 
hold  as  my  friend  so  gallant  though  so  unfortunate  a 
gentleman."  He  smiled  and  made  a  gesture  of  cour 
tesy.  "  Of  course  Mr.  MacLean  may  very  justly  not 
hold  me  in  a  like  esteem,  nor  desire  a  closer  relation." 

MacLean  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood  gazing  across 
the  river  at  the  twilight  shore  and  the  clear  skies. 
Presently  he  turned,  and  his  eyes  were  wet.  He  drew 
his  hand  across  them;  then  looked  curiously  at  the 
dew  upon  it.  "  I  have  not  done  this,"  he  said  simply, 
"  since  a  night  at  Preston  when  I  wept  with  rage.  In 
my  country  we  love  as  we  hate,  with  all  the  strength 
that  God  has  given  us.  The  brother  of  my  spirit  is 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN          175 

to  me  even  as  the  brother  of  my  flesh.  ...  I  used  to 
dream  that  my  hand  was  at  your  throat  or  my  sword 
through  your  heart,  and  wake  in  anger  that  it  was  not 
so  ...  and  now  I  could  love  you  well." 

Haward  stood  up,  and  the  two  men  clasped  hands. 
"  It  is  a  pact,  then,"  said  the  Englishman.  "  By  my 
faith,  the  world  looks  not  so  melancholy  gray  as  it  did 
awhile  ago.  And  here  is  Juba  to  say  that  supper 
waits.  Lay  the  table  for  two,  Juba.  Mr.  MacLean 
will  bear  me  company." 

The  storekeeper  stayed  late,  the  master  of  Fair  View 
being  an  accomplished  gentleman,  a  very  good  talker, 
and  an  adept  at  turning  his  house  for  the  nonce  into 
the  house  of  his  guest.  Supper  over  they  went  into  the 
library,  where  their  wine  was  set,  and  where  the  High 
lander,  who  was  no  great  reader,  gazed  respectfully  at 
the  wit  and  wisdom  arow  before  him.  "  Colonel  Byrd 
hath  more  volumes  at  Westover,"  quoth  Haward,  "but 
mine  are  of  the  choicer  quality."  Juba  brought  a  card 
table,  and  lit  more  candles,  while  his  master,  unlock 
ing  a  desk,  took  from  it  a  number  of  gold  pieces. 
These  he  divided  into  two  equal  portions :  kept  one 
beside  him  upon  the  polished  table,  and,  with  a  fine 
smile,  half  humorous,  half  deprecating,  pushed  the 
other  across  to  his  guest.  With  an  imperturbable 
face  MacLean  stacked  the  gold  before  him,  and  they 
fell  to  piquet,  playing  briskly,  and  with  occasional  ap 
plication  to  the  Madeira  upon  the  larger  table,  until 
ten  of  the  clock.  The  Highlander,  then  declaring  that 
he  must  be  no  longer  away  from  his  post,  swept  his 
heap  of  coins  across  to  swell  his  opponent's  store,  and 
said  good-night.  Haward  went  with  him  to  the  great 
door,  and  watched  him  stride  off  through  the  darkness 
whistling  "  The  Battle  of  Harlaw." 


176  AUDREY 

That  night  Haward  slept,  and  the  next  morning 
four  negroes  rowed  him  up  the  river  to  Jamestown. 
Mr.  Jaquelin  was  gone  to  Norfolk  upon  business,  but 
his  beautiful  wife  and  sprightly  daughters  found  Mr. 
Marmaduke  Haward  altogether  charming.  "  'T  was 
as  good  as  going  to  court,"  they  said  to  one  another, 
when  the  gentleman,  after  a  two  hours'  visit,  bowed 
himself  out  of  their  drawing-room.  The  object  of  their 
encomiums,  going  down  river  in  his  barge,  felt  his 
spirits  lighter  than  they  had  been  for  some  days.  He 
spoke  cheerfully  to  his  negroes,  and  when  the  barge 
passed  a  couple  of  fishing-boats  he  called  to  the  slim 
brown  lads  that  caught  for  the  plantation  to  know 
their  luck.  At  the  landing  he  found  the  overseer, 
who  walked  to  the  great  house  with  him.  The  night 
before  Tyburn  Will  had  stolen  from  the  white  quar 
ters,  and  had  met  a  couple  of  seamen  from  the  Tem 
perance  at  the  crossroads  ordinary,  which  ordinary 
was  going  to  get  into  trouble  for  breaking  the  law 
which  forbade  the  harboring  of  sailors  ashore.  The 
three  had  taken  in  full  lading  of  kill-devil  rum,  and 
Tyburn  Will,  too  drunk  to  run  any  farther,  had  been 
caught  by  Hide  near  Princess  Creek,  three  hours 
agone.  What  were  the  master's  orders  ?  Should  the 
rogue  go  to  the  court-house  whipping  post,  or  should 
Hide  save  the  trouble  of  taking  him  there  ?  In  either 
case,  thirty-nine  lashes  well  laid  on  — 

The  master  pursed  his  lips,  dug  into  the  ground 
with  the  ferrule  of  his  cane,  and  finally  proposed  to 
the  astonished  overseer  that  the  rascal  be  let  off  with 
a  warning.  "  'T  is  too  fair  a  day  to  poison  with  ugly 
sights  and  sounds,"  he  said,  whimsically  apologetic  for 
his  own  weakness.  '"Twill  do  no  great  harm  to  be 
lenient,  for  once,  Saunderson,  and  I  am  in  the  mood 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  A  GENTLEMAN          177 

to-day  to  be  friends  with  all  men,  including  my 
self." 

The  overseer  went  away  grumbling,  and  Haward 
entered  the  house.  The  room  where  dwelt  his  books 
looked  cool  and  inviting.  He  walked  the  length  of 
the  shelves,  took  out  a  volume  here  and  there  for 
his  evening  reading,  and  upon  the  binding  of  others 
laid  an  affectionate,  lingering  touch.  "  I  have  had  a 
fever,  my  friends,"  he  announced  to  the  books,  "  but 
I  am  about  to  find  myself  happily  restored  to  reason 
and  serenity ;  in  short,  to  health." 

Some  hours  later  he  raised  his  eyes  from  the  floor 
which  he  had  been  studying  for  a  great  while,  cov 
ered  them  for  a  moment  with  his  hand,  then  rose,  and, 
with  the  air  of  a  sleepwalker,  went  out  of  the  lit  room 
into  a  calm  and  fragrant  night.  There  was  no  moon, 
but  the  stars  were  many,  and  it  did  not  seem  dark. 
When  he  came  to  the  verge  of  the  landing,  and 
the  river,  sighing  in  its  sleep,  lay  clear  below  him, 
mirroring  the  stars,  it  was  as  though  he  stood  be 
tween  two  firmaments.  He  descended  the  steps,  and 
drew  toward  him  a  small  rowboat  that  was  softly  rub 
bing  against  the  wet  and  glistening  piles.  The  tide 
was  out,  and  the  night  was  very  quiet. 

Haward  troubled  not  the  midstream,  but  rowing  in 
the  shadow  of  the  bank  to  the  mouth  of  the  creek  that 
slept  beside  his  garden,  turned  and  went  up  this  nar 
row  water.  Until  he  was  free  of  the  wall  the  odor  of 
honeysuckle  and  box  clung  to  the  air,  freighting  it 
heavily ;  when  it  was  left  behind  the  reeds  began  to 
murmur  and  sigh,  though  not  loudly,  for  there  was  no 
wind.  When  he  came  to  a  point  opposite  the  minis 
ter's  house,  rising  fifty  yards  away  from  amidst  low 
orchard  trees,  he  rested  upon  his  oars.  There  was  a 


178  AUDREY 

light  in  an  upper  room,  and  as  he  looked  Audrey 
passed  between  the  candle  and  the  open  window.  A 
moment  later  and  the  light  was  out,  but  he  knew  that 
she  was  sitting  at  the  window.  Though  it  was  dark, 
he  found  that  he  could  call  back  with  precision  the 
slender  throat,  the  lifted  face,  and  the  enshadowing 
hair.  For  a  while  he  stayed,  motionless  in  his  boat, 
hidden  by  the  reeds  that  whispered  and  sighed ;  but 
at  last  he  rowed  away  softly  through  the  darkness, 
back  to  the  dim,  slow-moving  river  and  the  Fair  View 
landing. 

This  was  of  a  Friday.  All  the  next  day  he  spent 
in  the  garden,  but  on  Sunday  morning  he  sent  word  to 
the  stables  to  have  Mirza  saddled.  He  was  going 
to  church,  he  told  Juba  over  his  chocolate,  and  he 
would  wear  the  gray  and  silver. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   SABBATH   DAY'S    JOURNEY 

ALTHOUGH  the  house  of  worship  which  boasted  as 
its  ornament  the  Reverend  Gideon  Darden  was  not  so 
large  and  handsome  as  Bruton  church,  nor  could  rival 
the  painted  glories  of  Poplar  Spring,  it  was  yet  a 
building  good  enough,  —  of  brick,  with  a  fair  white 
spire  and  a  decorous  mantle  of  ivy.  The  churchyard, 
too,  was  pleasant,  though  somewhat  crowded  with  the 
dead.  There  were  oaks  for  shadei  and  wild  roses  for 
fragrance,  and  the  grass  between  the  long  gravestones, 
prone  upon  mortal  dust,  grew  very  thick  and  green. 
Outside  the  gates,  —  a  gift  from  the  first  master  of 
Fair  View,  —  between  the  churchyard  and  the  dusty 
highroad  ran  a  long  strip  of  trampled  turf,  shaded  by 
locust-trees  and  by  one  gigantic  gum  that  became  in 
the  autumn  a  pillar  of  fire. 

Haward,  arriving  somewhat  after  time,  found  drawn 
up  upon  this  piece  of  sward  a  coach,  two  berlins,  a 
calash,  and  three  chaises,  while  tied  to  hitching-posts, 
trees,  and  the  fence  were  a  number  of  saddle-horses. 
In  the  shade  of  the  gum-tree  sprawled  half  a  dozen 
negro  servants,  but  on  the  box  of  the  coach,  from 
which  the  restless  horses  had  been  taken,  there  yet  sat 
the  coachman,  a  mulatto  of  powerful  build  and  a  sul 
len  countenance.  The  vehicle  stood  in  the  blazing 
sunshine,  and  it  was  both  cooler  and  merrier  beneath 


180  AUDREY 

the  tree,  —  a  fact  apparent  enough  to  the  coachman, 
but  the  knowledge  of  which,  seeing  that  he  was  chained 
to  the  box,  did  him  small  good.  Haward  glanced  at 
the  figure  indifferently ;  but  Juba,  following  his  mas 
ter  upon  Whitefoot  Kate,  grinned  from  ear  to  ear. 
"  Larnin'  not  to  run  away,  Sam  ?  Road  's  clear :  why 
don'  you  carry  off  de  coach  ?  " 

Haward  dismounted,  and  leaving  Juba  first  to 
fasten  the  horses,  and  then  join  his  fellows  beneath 
the  gum-tree,  walked  into  the  churchyard.  The  con 
gregation  had  assembled,  and  besides  himself  there 
were  none  without  the  church  save  the  negroes  and 
the  dead.  The  service  had  commenced.  Through  the 
open  door  came  to  him  Darden's  voice  :  "  Dearly  be 
loved  brethren  "  — 

Haward  waited,  leaning  against  a  tomb  deep  graven 
with  a  coat  of  arms  and  much  stately  Latin,  until  the 
singing  clave  the  air,  when  he  entered  the  building, 
and  passed  down  the  aisle  to  his  own  pew,  the  chief- 
est  in  the  place.  He  was  aware  of  the  flutter  and 
whisper  on  either  hand,  —  perhaps  he  did  not  find  it 
unpleasing.  Diogenes  may  have  carried  his  lantern 
not  merely  to  find  a  man,  but  to  show  one  as  well, 
and  a  philosopher  in  a  pale  gray  riding  dress,  cut 
after  the  latest  mode,  with  silver  lace  and  a  fall  of 
Mechlin,  may  be  trusted  to  know  the  value  as  well 
as  the  vanity  of  sublunary  things. 

Of  the  gathering,  which  was  not  large,  two  thirds, 
perhaps,  were  people  of  condition  ;  and  in  the  coun 
try,  where  occasions  for  display  did  not  present  them 
selves  uncalled,  it  was  highly  becoming  to  worship  the 
Lord  in  fine  clothes.  So  there  were  broken  rainbows 
in  the  tall  pews,  with  a  soft  waving  of  fans  to  and  fro 
in  the  essenced  air,  and  a  low  rustle  of  silk.  The  men 


A  SABBATH  DAY'S  JOURNEY  181 

went  as  fine  as  the  women,  and  the  June  sunshine, 
pouring  in  upon  all  this  lustre  and  color,  made  a 
flower-bed  of  the  assemblage.  Being  of  the  country, 
it  was  vastly  better  behaved  than  would  have  been  a 
fashionable  London  congregation  ;  but  it  certainly  saw 
no  reason  why  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  should  not, 
during  the  anthem,  turn  his  back  upon  altar,  minister, 
and  clerk,  and  employ  himself  in  recognizing  with  a 
smile  and  an  inclination  of  his  head  his  friends  and 
acquaintances.  They  smiled  back,  —  the  gentlemen 
bowing  slightly,  the  ladies  making  a  sketch  of  a  curtsy. 
All  were  glad  that  Fair  View  house  was  open  once 
more,  and  were  kindly  disposed  toward  the  master 
thereof. 

The  eyes  of  that  gentleman  were  no  longer  for  the 
gay  parterre.  Between  it  and  the  door,  in  uncushioned 
pews  or  on  rude  benches,  were  to  be  found  the  plainer 
sort  of  Darden's  parishioners,  and  in  this  territory, 
that  was  like  a  border  of  sober  foliage  to  the  flower 
bed  in  front,  he  discovered  whom  he  sought. 

Her  gaze  had  been  upon  him  since  he  passed  the 
minister's  pew,  where  she  stood  between  my  Lady 
Squander's  ex-waiting-woman  and  the  branded  school 
master,  but  now  their  eyes  came  full  together.  She 
was  dressed  in  some  coarse  dark  stuff,  above  which 
rose  the  brown  pillar  of  her  throat  and  the  elusive, 
singular  beauty  of  her  face.  There  was  a  flower  in 
her  hair,  placed  as  he  had  placed  the  rosebuds.  A 
splendor  leaped  into  her  eyes,  but  her  cheek  did  not 
redden ;  it  was  to  his  face  that  the  color  rushed. 
They  had  but  a  moment  in  which  to  gaze  at  each  other, 
for  the  singing,  which  to  her,  at  least,  had  seemed  sud 
denly  to  swell  into  a  great  ascending  tide  of  sound, 
with  somewhere,  far  away,  the  silver  calling  of  a 


182  AUDREY 

trumpet,  now  came  to  an  end,  and  with  another  silken 
rustle  and  murmur  the  congregation  sat  down. 

Haward  did  not  turn  again,  and  the  service  went 
drowsily  on.  Darden  was  bleared  of  eye  and  some 
what  thick  of  voice ;  the  clerk's  whine  was  as  sleepy 
a  sound  as  the  buzzing  of  the  bees  in  and  out  of  win 
dow,  or  the  soft,  incessant  stir  of  painted  fans.  A 
churchwarden  in  the  next  pew  nodded  and  nodded, 
until  he  nodded  his  peruke  awry,  and  a  child  went 
fast  asleep,  with  its  head  in  its  mother's  lap.  One 
and  all  worshiped  somewhat  languidly,  with  frequent 
glances  at  the  hourglass  upon  the  pulpit.  They  prayed 
for  King  George  the  First,  not  knowing  that  he  was 
dead,  and  for  the  Prince,  not  knowing  that  he  was 
King.  The  minister  preached  against  Quakers  and 
witchcraft,  and  shook  the  rafters  with  his  fulminations. 
Finally  came  the  benediction  and  a  sigh  of  relief. 

In  that  country  and  time  there  was  no  unsociable 
and  undignified  scurrying  homeward  after  church. 
Decorous  silence  prevailed  until  the  house  was  ex 
changed  for  the  green  and  shady  churchyard ;  but  then 
tongues  were  loosened,  and  the  flower-bed  broken  into 
clusters.  One  must  greet  one's  neighbors ;  present 
or  be  presented  to  what  company  might  be  staying 
at  the  various  great  houses  within  the  parish;  talk, 
laugh,  coquet,  and  ogle  ;  make  appointments  for  busi 
ness  or  for  pleasure ;  speak  of  the  last  horse-race,  the 
condition  of  wheat  and  tobacco,  and  the  news  brought 
in  by  the  Valour,  man-of-war,  that  the  King  was  gone 
to  Hanover.  In  short,  for  the  nonce,  the  churchyard 
became  a  drawing-room,  with  the  sun  for  candles,  with 
no  painted  images  of  the  past  and  gone  upon  the  walls, 
but  with  the  dead  themselves  beneath  the  floor. 

The  minister,  having  questions  to  settle  with  clerk 


A  SABBATH  DAY'S  JOURNEY  183 

and  sexton,  tarried  in  the  vestry  room ;  but  his  wife, 
with  Audrey  and  the  schoolmaster,  waited  for  him 
outside,  in  the  shade  of  an  oak-tree  that  was  just  with 
out  the  pale  of  the  drawing-room.  Mistress  Deborah, 
in  her  tarnished  amber  satin  and  ribbons  that  had  out 
worn  their  youth,  bit  her  lip  and  tapped  her  foot  upon 
the  ground.  Audrey  watched  her  apprehensively. 
She  knew  the  signs,  and  that  when  they  reached  home 
a  storm  might  break  that  would  leave  its  mark  upon 
her  shoulders.  The  minister's  wife  was  not  approved 
of  by  the  ladies  of  Fair  View  parish,  but  had  they  seen 
how  wistful  was  the  face  of  the  brown  girl  with  her, 
they  might  have  turned  aside,  spoken,  and  let  the 
storm  go  by.  The  girl  herself  was  scarcely  noticed. 
Few  had  ever  heard  her  story,  or,  hearing  it,  had  re 
membered  ;  the  careless  many  thought  her  an  orphan, 
bound  to  Darden  and  his  wife,  —  in  effect  their  ser 
vant.  If  she  had  beauty,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
who  saw  her,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  in  the  minister's 
pew,  had  scarce  discovered  it.  She  was  too  dark,  too 
slim,  too  shy  and  strange  of  look,  with  her  great  brown 
eyes  and  that  startled  turn  of  her  head.  Their  taste 
was  for  lilies  and  roses,  and  it  was  not  an  age  that 
counted  shyness  a  grace. 

Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  was  not  likely  to  be  ac 
cused  of  diffidence.  He  had  come  out  of  church  with 
the  sleepy-headed  churchwarden,  who  was  now  wide 
awake  and  mightily  concerned  to  know  what  horse 
Mr.  Haward  meant  to  enter  for  the  great  race  at  Mul 
berry  Island,  while  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  was 
seized  upon  by  another  portly  vestryman,  and  borne 
off  to  be  presented  to  three  blooming  young  ladies, 
quick  to  second  their  papa's  invitation  home  to  dinner. 
Mr.  Haward  was  ready  to  curse  his  luck  that  he  was 


184  AUDREY 

engaged  elsewhere ;  but  were  not  these  Graces  the 
children  to  whom  he  had  used  to  send  sugar-plums 
from  Williamsburgh,  years  and  years  ago?  He 
vowed  that  the  payment,  which  he  had  never  received, 
he  would  take  now  with  usury,  and  proceeded  to  sa 
lute  the  cheek  of  each  protesting  fair.  The  ladies 
found  him  vastly  agreeable;  old  and  new  friends 
crowded  around  him ;  he  put  forth  his  powers  and 
charmed  all  hearts,  —  and  all  the  while  inwardly 
cursed  the  length  of  way  to  the  gates,  and  the  tardy 
progress  thereto  of  his  friends  and  neighbors. 

But  however  slow  in  ebbing,  the  tide  was  really  set 
toward  home  and  dinner.  Darden,  coming  out  of  the 
vestry  room,  found  the  churchyard  almost  cleared, 
and  the  road  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  greater  number 
of  those  who  came  a-horseback  were  gone,  and  there 
had  also  departed  both  berlins,  the  calash,  and  two 
chaises.  Mr.  Haward  was  handing  the  three  Graces 
into  the  coach  with  the  chained  coachman,  Juba  stand 
ing  by,  holding  his  master's  horse.  Darden  grew 
something  purpler  in  the  face,  and,  rumbling  oaths, 
went  over  to  the  three  beneath  the  oak.  "  How  many 
spoke  to  you  to-day  ?  "  he  asked  roughly  of  his  wife. 
"  Did  Tie  come  and  speak  ?  " 

"  No,  he  did  n't !  "  cried  Mistress  Deborah  tartly. 
"  And  all  the  gentry  went  by  ;  only  Mr.  Bray  stopped 
to  say  that  everybody  knew  of  your  fight  with  Mr- 
Bailey  at  the  French  ordinary,  and  that  the  Commis 
sary  had  sent  for  Bailey,  and  was  going  to  suspend 
him.  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  knew  why  I  married  you, 
to  be  looked  down  upon  by  every  Jill,  when  I  might 
have  had  his  Lordship's  own  man!  Of  all  the 
fools  "  — 

"  You  were  not  the  only  one,"  answered  her  hus- 


A  SABBATH  DAY'S  JOURNEY  185 

band  grimly.  "  Well,  let 's  home  ;  there  's  dinner  yet. 
What  is  it,  Audrey  ?  "  This  in  answer  to  an  inarticu 
late  sound  from  the  girl. 

The  schoolmaster  answered  for  her :  "  Mr.  Marina- 
duke  Haward  has  not  gone  with  the  coach.  Perhaps 
he  only  waited  until  the  other  gentlefolk  should  be 
gone.  Here  he  comes." 

The  sward  without  the  gates  was  bare  of  all  whose 
presence  mattered,  and  Haward  had  indeed  reentered 
the  churchyard,  and  was  walking  toward  them.  Dar- 
den  went  to  meet  him.  "  These  be  fine  tales  I  hear  of 
you,  Mr.  Darden,"  said  his  parishioner  calmly.  "  I 
should  judge  you  were  near  the  end  of  your  rope. 
There  's  a  vestry  meeting  Thursday.  Shall  I  put  in  a 
good  word  for  your  reverence  ?  Egad,  you  need  it !  " 

"  I  shall  be  your  honor's  most  humble,  most  obliged 
servant,"  quoth  the  minister.  "  The  affair  at  the 
French  ordinary  was  nothing.  I  mean  to  preach  next 
Sunday  upon  calumny,  —  calumny  that  spare th  none, 
not  even  such  as  I.  You  are  for  home,  I  see,  and  our 
road  for  a  time  is  the  same.  Will  you  ride  with  us  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  Haward  briefly.  "  But  you  must  send 
yonder  fellow  with  the  scarred  hands  packing.  I 
travel  not  with  thieves." 

He  had  not  troubled  to  lower  his  voice,  and  as  he 
and  Darden  were  now  themselves  within  the  shadow 
of  the  oak,  the  schoolmaster  overheard  him  and  an 
swered  for  himself.  "  Your  honor  need  not  fear  my 
company,"  he  said,  in  his  slow  and  lifeless  tones.  "  I 
am  walking,  and  I  take  the  short  cut  through  the 
woods.  Good-day,  worthy  Gideon.  Madam  Deborah 
and  Audrey,  good-day." 

He  put  his  uncouth,  shambling  figure  into  motion, 
and,  indifferent  and  lifeless  in  manner  as  in  voice,  was 


186  AUDREY 

gone,  gliding  like  a  long  black  shadow  through  the 
churchyard  and  into  the  woods  across  the  road.  "  I 
knew  him  long  ago  in  England,"  the  minister  explained 
to  their  new  companion.  "  He  's  a  learned  man,  and, 
like  myself,  a  calumniated  one.  The  gentlemen  of 
these  parts  value  him  highly  as  an  instructor  of  youth. 
No  need  to  send  their  sons  to  college  if  they  've  been 
with  him  for  a  year  or  two !  My  good  Deborah,  Mr. 
Haward  will  ride  with  us  toward  Fair  View." 

Mistress  Deborah  curtsied;  then  chided  Audrey 
for  not  minding  her  manners,  but  standing  like  a 
stock  or  stone,  with  her  thoughts  a  thousand  miles 
away.  "  Let  her  be,"  said  Haward.  "  We  gave  each 
other  good-day  in  church." 

Together  the  four  left  the  churchyard.  Darden 
brought  up  two  sorry  horses ;  lifted  his  wife  and 
Audrey  upon  one,  and  mounted  the  other.  Haward 
swung  himself  into  his  saddle,  and  the  company  started, 
Juba  upon  Whitefoot  Kate  bringing  up  the  rear. 
The  master  of  Fair  View  rode  beside  the  minister,  and 
only  now  and  then  spoke  to  the  women.  The  road 
was  here  sunny,  there  shady ;  the  excessive  heat 
broken,  the  air  pleasant  enough.  Everywhere,  too, 
was  the  singing  of  birds,  while  the  fields  that  they 
passed  of  tobacco  and  golden,  waving  wheat  were 
charming  to  the  sight.  The  minister  was,  when  sober, 
a  man  of  parts,  with  some  education  and  a  deal  of 
mother  wit ;  in  addition,  a  close  and  shrewd  observer 
of  the  times  and  people.  He  and  Haward  talked  of 
matters  of  public  moment,  and  the  two  women  listened, 
submissive  and  admiring.  It  seemed  that  they  came 
very  quickly  to  the  bridge  across  the  creek  and  the 
parting  of  their  ways.  Would  Mr.  Haward  ride  on 
to  the  glebe  house  ? 


A  SABBATH  DAY'S  JOURNEY  187 

It  appeared  that  Mr.  Haward  would.  Moreover, 
when  the  house  was  reached,  and  Darden's  one  slave 
came  running  from  a  broken-down  stable  to  take  the 
horses,  he  made  no  motion  toward  returning  to  the 
bridge  which  led  across  the  creek  to  his  own  planta 
tion,  but  instead  dismounted,  flung  his  reins  to  Juba, 
and  asked  if  he  might  stay  to  dinner. 

Now,  by  the  greatest  good  luck,  considered  Mistress 
Deborah,  there  chanced  to  be  in  her  larder  a  haunch 
of  venison  roasted  most  noble ;  the  ducklings  and 
asparagus,  too,  cooked  before  church,  needed  but  to 
be  popped  into  the  oven  ;  and  there  was  also  an  apple 
tart  with  cream.  With  elation,  then,  and  eke  with  a 
mind  at  rest,  she  added  her  shrill  protests  of  delight 
to  Darden's  more  moderate  assurances,  and,  leaving 
Audrey  to  set  chairs  in  the  shade  of  a  great  apple- 
tree,  hurried  into  the  house  to  unearth  her  damask 
tablecloth  and  silver  spoons,  and  to  plan  for  the  mor 
row  a  visit  to  the  Widow  Constance,  and  a  casual 
remark  that  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  had  dined  with 
the  minister  the  day  before.  Audrey,  her  task  done, 
went  after  her,  to  be  met  with  graciousness  most  un 
usual.  "  I  '11  see  to  the  dinner,  child.  Mr.  Haward 
will  expect  one  of  us  to  sit  without,  and  you  had  as 
well  go  as  I.  If  he  's  talking  to  Darden,  you  might 
get  some  larkspur  and  gilliflowers  for  the  table.  La ! 
the  flowers  that  used  to  wither  beneath  the  candles  at 
my  Lady  Squander's  !  " 

Audrey,  finding  the  two  men  in  conversation  beneath 
the  apple-tree,  passed  on  to  the  ragged  garden,  where 
clumps  of  hardy,  bright-colored  flowers  played  hide- 
and-seek  with  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes.  Ha 
ward  saw  her  go,  and  broke  the  thread  of  his  discourse. 
Darden  looked  up,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  met ; 


188  AUDREY 

those  of  the  younger  were  cold  and  steady.  A  moment, 
and  his  glance  had  fallen  to  his  watch  which  he  had 
pulled  out.  "  'T  is  early  yet,"  he  said  coolly,  "  and  I 
dare  say  not  quite  your  dinner  time,  —  which  I  beg 
that  Mistress  Deborah  will  not  advance  on  my  account. 
Is  it  not  your  reverence's  habit  to  rest  within  doors 
after  your  sermon  ?  Pray  do  not  let  me  detain  you. 
I  will  go  talk  awhile  with  Audrey." 

He  put  up  his  watch  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Darden 
cleared  his  throat.  "  I  have,  indeed,  a  letter  to  write 
to  Mr.  Commissary,  and  it  may  be  half  an  hour  before 
Deborah  has  dinner  ready.  I  will  send  your  servant 
to  fetch  you  in." 

Haward  broke  the  larkspur  and  gilliflowers,  and 
Audrey  gathered  up  her  apron  and  filled  it  with  the 
vivid  blooms.  The  child  that  had  thus  brought  loaves 
of  bread  to  a  governor's  table  spread  beneath  a  sugar- 
tree,  with  mountains  round  about,  had  been  no  purer 
of  heart,  no  more  innocent  of  rustic  coquetry.  When 
her  apron  was  filled  she  would  have  returned  to  the 
house,  but  Haward  would  not  have  it  so.  "  They  will 
call  when  dinner  is  ready,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  to  talk 
to  you,  little  maid.  Let  us  go  sit  in  the  shade  of  the 
willow  yonder." 

It  was  almost  a  twilight  behind  the  cool  green  rain 
of  the  willow  boughs.  Through  that  verdant  mist 
Haward  and  Audrey  saw  the  outer  world  but  dimly. 
"  I  had  a  fearful  dream  last  night,"  said  Audrey.  "  I 
think  that  that  must  have  been  why  I  was  so  glad  to  see 
you  come  into  church  to-day.  I  dreamed  that  you  had 
never  come  home  again,  overseas,  in  the  Golden  Rose. 
Hugon  was  beside  me,  in  the  dream,  telling  me  that 
you  were  dead  in  England  :  and  suddenly  I  knew  that 
I  had  never  really  seen  you ;  that  there  was  no  garden, 


A  SABBATH   DAY'S  JOURNEY  189 

no  terrace,  no  roses,  no  you.  It  was  all  so  cold  and 
sad,  and  the  sun  kept  growing  smaller  and  smaller. 
The  woods,  too,  were  black,  and  the  wind  cried  in  them 
so  that  I  was  afraid.  And  then  I  was  in  Hugon's 
house,  holding  the  door,  —  there  was  a  wolf  without, 
—  and  through  the  window  I  saw  the  mountains  ;  only 
they  were  so  high  that  my  heart  ached  to  look  upon 
them,  and  the  wind  cried  down  the  cleft  in  the  hills. 
The  wolf  went  away,  and  then,  somehow,  I  was  upon 
the  hilltop.  .  .  .  There  was  a  dead  man  lying  in  the 
grass,  but  it  was  too  dark  to  see.  Hugon  came  up 
behind  me,  stooped,  and  lifted  the  hand.  .  .  .  Upon 
the  finger  was  that  ring  you  wear,  burning  in  the 
moonlight.  .  .  .  Oh  me ! " 

The  remembered  horror  of  her  dream  contending 
with  present  bliss  shook  her  spirit  to  its  centre.  She 
shuddered  violently,  then  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

Haward's  touch  upon  her  hair,  Haward's  voice  in 
her  ear,  all  the  old  terms  of  endearment  for  a  fright 
ened  child,  —  "  little  maid,"  "  little  coward,"  "  Why, 
sweetheart,  these  things  are  shadows,  they  cannot 
hurt  thee !  "  She  controlled  her  tears,  and  was  the 
happier  for  her  weeping.  It  was  sweet  to  sit  there  in 
the  lush  grass,  veiled  and  shadowed  from  the  world 
by  the  willow's  drooping  green,  and  in  that  soft  and 
happy  light  to  listen  to  his  voice,  half  laughing,  half 
chiding,  wholly  tender  and  caressing.  Dreams  were 
naught,  he  said.  Had  Hugon  troubled  her  waking 
hours  ? 

He  had  come  once  to  the  house,  it  appeared  ;  but 
she  had  run  away  and  hidden  in  the  wood,  and  the 
minister  had  told  him  she  was  gone  to  the  Widow 
Constance's.  That  was  a  long  time  ago;  it  must 
have  been  the  day  after  she  and  Mistress  Deborah 
had  last  come  from  Fair  View. 


190  AUDREY 

"  A  long  time,"  said  Ha  ward.  "  It  was  a  week 
ago.  Has  it  seemed  a  long  time,  Audrey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  oh  yes  !  " 

"  I  have  been  busy.  I  must  learn  to  bo  a  planter, 
you  know.  But  I  have  thought  of  you,  little  maid." 

Audrey  was  glad  of  that,  but  there  was  yet  a  weight 
upon  her  heart.  "  After  that  dream  I  lay  awake  all 
night,  and  it  came  to  me  how  wrongly  I  had  done. 
Hugon  is  a  wicked  man,  —  an  Indian.  Oh,  I  should 
never  have  told  you,  that  first  day  in  the  garden,  that 
he  was  waiting  for  me  outside !  For  now,  because 
you  took  care  of  me  and  would  not  let  him  come  near, 
he  hates  you.  He  is  so  wicked  that  he  might  do  you 
a  harm."  Her  eyes  widened,  and  the  hand  that 
touched  his  was  cold  and  trembling.  "  If  ever  hurt 
came  to  you  through  me,  I  would  drown  myself  in 
the  river  yonder.  And  then  I  thought  —  lying  awake 
last  night  —  that  perhaps  I  had  been  troublesome  to 
you,  those  days  at  Fair  View,  and  that  was  why  you 
had  not  come  to  see  the  minister,  as  you  had  said 
you  would."  The  dark  eyes  were  pitifully  eager ; 
the  hand  that  went  to  her  heart  trembled  more  and 
more.  "  It  is  not  as  it  was  in  the  mountains,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  older  now,  and  safe,  and  —  and  happy. 
And  you  have  many  things  to  do  and  to  think  of,  and 
many  friends  —  gentlemen  and  beautiful  ladies  —  to 
go  to  see.  I  thought  —  last  night  —  that  when  I  saw 
you  I  would  ask  your  pardon  for  not  remembering 
that  the  mountains  were  years  ago  ;  for  troubling  you 
with  my  matters,  sir ;  for  making  too  free,  forgetting 
my  place  "  —  Her  voice  sank  ;  the  shamed  red  was 
in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes,  that  she  had  bravely  kept 
upon  his  face,  fell  to  the  purple  and  gold  blooms  in 
her  lap. 


A  SABBATH  DAY'S  JOURNEY  191 

Haward  rose  from  the  grass,  and,  with  his  back  to 
the  gray  bole  of  the  willow,  looked  first  at  the  veil  of 
leaf  and  stem  through  which  dimly  showed  house,  or 
chard,  and  blue  sky,  then  down  upon  the  girl  at  his 
feet.  Her  head  was  bent  and  she  sat  very  still,  one 
listless,  upturned  hand  upon  the  grass  beside  her,  the 
other  lying  as  quietly  among  her  flowers. 

"Audrey,"  he  said  at  last,  "you  shame  me  in  your 
thoughts  of  me.  I  am  not  that  knight  without  fear 
and  without  reproach  for  which  you  take  me.  Being 
what  I  am,  you  must  believe  that  you  have  not  wearied 
me  ;  that  I  think  of  you  and  wish  to  see  you.  And 
Hugon,  having  possibly  some  care  for  his  own  neck, 
will  do  me  no  harm ;  that  is  a  very  foolish  notion, 
which  you  must  put  from  you.  Now  listen."  He 
knelt  beside  her  and  took  her  hand  in  his.  "  After  a 
while,  perhaps,  when  the  weather  is  cooler,  and  I  must 
open  my  house  and  entertain  after  the  fashion  of  the 
country ;  when  the  new  Governor  comes  in,  and  all 
this  gay  little  world  of  Virginia  flocks  to  Williams- 
burgh  ;  when  I  am  a  Councilor,  and  must  go  with  the 
rest,  and  must  think  of  gold  and  place  and  people,  — 
why,  then,  maybe,  our  paths  will  again  diverge,  and 
only  now  and  then  will  I  catch  the  gleam  of  your 
skirt,  mountain  maid,  brown  Audrey !  But  now  in 
these  midsummer  days  it  is  a  sleepy  world,  that  cares 
not  to  go  bustling  up  and  down.  I  am  alone  in  my 
house  ;  I  visit  not  nor  am  visited,  and  the  days  hang 
heavy.  Let  us  make  believe  for  a  time  that  the  moun 
tains  are  all  around  us,  that  it  was  but  yesterday  we 
traveled  together.  It  is  only  a  little  way  from  Fair 
View  to  the  glebe  house,  from  the  glebe  house  to  Fair 
View.  I  will  see  you  often,  little  maid,  and  you  must 
dream  no  more  as  you  dreamed  last  night."  He 


192  AUDREY 

paused  ;  his  voice  changed,  and  he  went  on  as  to  him 
self  :  "  It  is  a  lonely  land,  with  few  to  see  and  none  to 
care.  I  will  drift  with  the  summer,  making  of  it  an 
idyl,  beautiful,  —  yes,  and  innocent !  When  autumn 
comes  I  will  go  to  Westover." 

Of  this  speech  Audrey  caught  only  the  last  word. 
A  wonderful  smile,  so  bright  was  it,  and  withal  so 
sad,  came  into  her  face.  "  Westover  !  "  she  said  to 
herself.  "  That  is  where  the  princess  lives." 

"  We  will  let  thought  alone,"  continued  Haward. 
"  It  suits  not  with  this  charmed  light,  this  glamour  of 
the  summer."  He  made  a  laughing  gesture.  "  Hey, 
presto !  little  maid,  there  go  the  years  rolling  back ! 
I  swear  I  see  the  mountains  through  the  willow  leaves." 

"  There  was  one  like  a  wall  shutting  out  the  sun 
when  he  went  down,"  answered  Audrey.  "  It  was 
black  and  grim,  and  the  light  flared  like  a  fire  behind 
it.  And  there  was  the  one  above  which  the  moon 
rose.  It  was  sharp,  pointing  like  a  finger  to  heaven, 
and  I  liked  it  best.  Do  you  remember  how  large  was 
the  moon  pushing  up  behind  the  pine-trees  ?  We  sat 
on  the  dark  hillside  watching  it,  and  you  told  me 
beautiful  stories,  while  the  moon  rose  higher  and 
higher  and  the  mockingbirds  began  to  sing." 

Haward  remembered  not,  but  he  said  that  he  did 
so.  "The  moon  is  full  again,"  he  continued,  "and 
last  night  I  heard  a  mockingbird  in  the  garden.  I 
will  come  in  the  barge  to-morrow  evening,  and  the 
negroes  shall  row  us  up  and  down  the  river  —  you  and 
me  and  Mistress  Deborah  —  between  the  sunset  and 
the  moonrise.  Then  it  is  lonely  and  sweet  upon  the 
water.  The  roses  can  be  smelled  from  the  banks,  and 
if  you  will  speak  to  the  mockingbirds  we  shall  have 
music,  dryad  Audrey,  brown  maid  of  the  woods !  " 


A  SABBATH  DAY'S  JOURNEY  193 

Audrey's  laugh  was  silver-clear  and  sweet,  like  that 
of  a  forest  nymph  indeed.  She  was  quite  happy 
again,  with  all  her  half-formed  doubts  and  fears  al 
layed.  They  had  never  been  of  him, — only  of  her 
self.  The  two  sat  within  the  green  and  swaying 
fountain  of  the  willow,  and  time  went  by  on  eagle 
wings.  Too  soon  came  the  slave  to  call  them  to  the 
house  ;  the  time  within,  though  spent  in  the  company 
of  Darden  and  his  wife,  passed  too  soon  ;  too  soon 
came  the  long  shadows  of  the  afternoon  and  Haward's 
call  for  his  horse. 

Audrey  watched  him  ride  away,  and  the  love  light  was 
in  her  eyes.  She  did  not  know  that  it  was  so.  That 
night,  in  her  bare  little  room,  when  the  candle  was 
out,  she  kneeled  by  the  window  and  looked  at  the 
stars.  There  was  one  very  fair  and  golden,  an  em 
press  of  the  night.  "  That  is  the  princess,"  said 
Audrey,  and  smiled  upon  the  peerless  star.  Far  from 
that  light,  scarce  free  from  the  murk  of  the  horizon, 
shone  a  little  star,  companionless  in  the  night.  "  And 
that  is  I,"  said  Audrey,  and  smiled  upon  herself. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    BEND    IN   THE   ROAD 

"  '  Brave  Derwentwater  he  is  dead ; 

From  his  fair  body  they  took  the  head : 

But  Mackintosh  and  his  friends  are  fled, 

And  they  '11  set  the  hat  upon  another  head  ' "  — 

chanted  the  Fair  View  storekeeper,  and  looked  aside 
at  Mistress  Truelove  Taberer,  spinning  in  the  door 
way  of  her  father's  house. 

Truelove  answered  naught,  but  her  hands  went  to 
and  fro,  and  her  eyes  were  for  her  work,  not  for  Mac- 
Lean,  sitting  on  the  doorstep  at  her  feet. 

"  '  And  whether  they  're  gone  beyond  the  sea '  "  — 

The  exile  broke  off  and  sighed  heavily.  Before  the 
two  a  little  yard,  all  gay  with  hollyhocks  and  roses, 
sloped  down  to  the  wider  of  the  two  creeks  between 
which  stretched  the  Fair  View  plantation.  It  was 
late  of  a  holiday  afternoon.  A  storm  was  brewing, 
darkening  all  the  water,  and  erecting  above  the  sweep 
of  woods  monstrous  towers  of  gray  cloud.  There 
must  have  been  an  echo,  for  MacLean's  sigh  came 
back  to  him  faintly,  as  became  an  echo. 

"  Is  there  not  peace  here,  4  beyond  the  sea  '  ?  "  said 
Truelove  softly.  "  Thine  must  be  a  dreadful  country, 
Angus  MacLean ! " 

The  Highlander  looked  at  her  with  kindling  eyes. 
"Now  had  I  the  harp  of  old  Murdoch  1  "  he  said. 


THE  BEND  IN   THE  ROAD  195 

"  '  Dear  is  that  land  to  the  east, 
Alba  of  the  lakes  ! 
Oh,  that  I  might  dwell  there  forever '  "  — 

He  turned  upon  the  doorstep,  and  taking  between 
his  fingers  the  hem  of  Truelove's  apron  fell  to  plait 
ing  it.  "  A  woman  named  Deirdre,  who  lived  before 
the  days  of  Gillean-na-Tuaidhe,  made  that  song.  She 
was  not  born  in  that  land,  but  it  was  dear  to  her  be 
cause  she  dwelt  there  with  the  man  whom  she  loved. 
They  went  away,  and  the  man  was  slain ;  and  where 
he  was  buried,  there  Deirdre  cast  herself  down  and 
died."  His  voice  changed,  and  all  the  melancholy  of 
his  race,  deep,  wild,  and  tender,  looked  from  his  eyes. 
"  If  to-day  you  found  yourself  in  that  loved  land,  if 
this  parched  grass  were  brown  heather,  if  it  stretched 
down  to  a  tarn  yonder,  if  that  gray  cloud  that  hath  all 
the  seeming  of  a  crag  were  crag  indeed,  and  eagles 
plied  between  the  tarn  and  it,"  —  he  touched  her 
hand  that  lay  idle  now  upon  her  knee,  — "  if  you 
came  like  Deirdre  lightly  through  the  heather,  and 
found  me  lying  here,  and  found  more  red  than  should 
be  in  the  tartan  of  the  MacLeans,  what  would  you  do, 
Truelove  ?  What  would  you  cry  out,  Truelove  ?  How 
heavy  would  be  thy  heart,  Truelove  ?  " 

Truelove  sat  in  silence,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  sky 
above  the  dream  crags.  "How  heavy  would  grow 
thy  heart,  Truelove,  Truelove  ?  "  whispered  the  High 
lander. 

Up  the  winding  water,  to  the  sedges  and  reeds 
below  the  little  yard,  glided  the  boy  Ephraim  in  his 
boat.  The  Quakeress  started,  and  the  color  flamed 
into  her  gentle  face.  She  took  up  the  distaff  that  she 
had  dropped,  and  fell  to  work  again.  "Thee  must 
not  speak  to  me  so,  Angus  MacLean,"  she  said. 


196  AUDREY 

"I  trust  that  my  heart  is  not  hard.  Thy  death 
would  grieve  me,  and  my  father  and  my  mother  and 
Ephraim  "  — 

"I  care  not  for  thy  father  and  mother  and  Ephra 
im  ! "  MacLean  began  impetuously.  "  But  you  do 
right  to  chide  me.  Once  I  knew  a  green  glen  where 
maidens  were  fain  when  paused  at  their  doors  Angus, 
son  of  Hector,  son  of  Lachlan,  son  of  Murdoch,  son 
of  Angus  that  was  named  for  Angus  Mor,  who  was 
great-grandson  of  Hector  of  the  Battles,  who  was  son 
of  Lachlan  Lubanach !  But  here  I  am  a  landless 
man,  with  none  to  do  me  honor,  —  a  wretch  bereft  of 
liberty  "  — 

"To  me,  to  all  Friends,"  said  Truelove  sweetly, 
halting  a  little  in  her  work,  "  thee  has  now  what  thee 
thyself  calls  freedom.  For  God  meant  not  that  one 
of  his  creatures  should  say  to  another :  4  Lo,  here  am 
I !  Behold  thy  God !  '  To  me,  and  my  father  and 
mother  and  Ephraim,  thee  is  no  bond  servant  of  Mar- 
maduke  Haward.  But  thee  is  bond  servant  to  thy 
own  vain  songs ;  thy  violent  words  ;  thy  idle  pride, 
that,  vaunting  the  cruel  deeds  of  thy  forefathers,  calls 
meekness  and  submission  the  last  worst  evil ;  thy 
shameless  reverence  for  those  thy  fellow  creatures, 
James  Stewart  and  him  whom  thee  calls  the  chief  of 
thy  house,  —  forgetting  that  there  is  but  one  house, 
and  that  God  is  its  head  ;  thy  love  of  clamor  and  war 
fare  ;  thy  hatred  of  the  ways  of  peace  "  — 

MacLean  laughed.  "  I  hate  not  all  its  ways. 
There  is  no  hatred  in  my  heart  for  this  house  which 
is  its  altar,  nor  for  the  priestess  of  the  altar.  Ah ! 
now  you  frown,  Truelove  "  — 

Across  the  clouds  ran  so  fierce  a  line  of  gold  that 
Truelove,  startled,  put  her  hand  before  her  eyes. 


THE  BEND  IN  THE  ROAD        197 

Another  dart  of  lightning,  a  low  roll  of  thunder,  a 
bending  apart  of  the  alder  bushes  on  the  far  side  of 
the  creek ;  then  a  woman's  voice  calling  to  the  boy  in 
the  boat  to  come  ferry  her  over. 

"  Who  may  that  be  ? "  asked  Truelove  wonder- 
ingly. 

It  was  only  a  little  way  to  the  bending  alders. 
Ephraim  rowed  across  the  glassy  water,  dark  beneath 
the  approach  of  the  storm ;  the  woman  stepped  into 
the  boat,  and  the  tiny  craft  came  lightly  back  to  its 
haven  beneath  the  bank. 

"  It  is  Darden's  Audrey,"  said  the  storekeeper. 

Truelove  shrank  a  little,  and  her  eyes  darkened. 
"  Why  should  she  come  here  ?  I  never  knew  her.  It 
is  true  that  we  may  not  think  evil,  but  —  but "  — 

MacLean  moved  restlessly.  "  I  have  seen  the  girl 
but  twice,"  he  said.  "  Once  she  was  alone,  once  — 
It  is  my  friend  of  whom  I  think.  I  know  what  they 
say,  but,  by  St.  Kattan !  I  hold  him  a  gentleman  too 
high  of  mind,  too  noble  —  There  was  a  tale  I  used 
to  hear  when  I  was  a  boy.  A  long,  long  time  ago  a 
girl  lived  in  the  shadow  of  the  tower  of  Duart,  and 
the  chief  looked  down  from  his  walls  and  saw  her. 
Afterwards  they  walked  together  by  the  shore  and 
through  the  glens,  and  he  cried  her  health  when  he 
drank  in  his  hall,  sitting  amongst  his  tacksmen.  Then 
what  the  men  whispered  the  women  spoke  aloud ;  and 
so,  more  quickly  than  the  tarie  is  borne,  word  went  to 
a  man  of  the  MacDonalds  who  loved  the  Duart 
maiden.  Not  like  a  lover  to  his  tryst  did  he  come. 
In  the  handle  of  his  dirk  the  rich  stones  sparkled  as 
they  rose  and  fell  with  the  rise  and  fall  of  the 
maiden's  white  bosom.  She  prayed  to  die  in  his 
arms ;  for  it  was  not  Duart  that  she  loved,  but  him. 


198  AUDREY 

She  died,  and  they  snooded  her  hair  and  buried  her. 
Duart  went  overseas;  the  man  of  the  MacDonalds 
killed  himself.  It  was  all  wrought  with  threads  of 
gossamer,  —  idle  fancy,  shrugs,  smiles,  whispers,  slur- 
ring  speech,  —  and  it  was  long  ago.  But  there  is  yet 
gossamer  to  be  had  for  the  gathering ;  it  gleams  on 
every  hand  these  summer  mornings." 

By  now  Darden's  Audrey  had  left  the  boat  and  was 
close  upon  them.  MacLean  arose,  and  Truelove 
hastily  pushed  aside  her  wheel.  "  Is  thee  seeking 
shelter  from  the  storm?  "  she  asked  tremulously,  and 
with  her  cheeks  as  pink  as  a  seashell.  "  Will  thee  sit 
here'with  us?  The  storm  will  not  break  yet  awhile." 

Audrey  heeded  her  not,  her  eyes  being  for  MacLean. 
She  had  been  running,  —  running  more  swiftly  than 
for  a  thousand  May  Day  guineas.  Even  now,  though 
her  breath  came  short,  every  line  of  her  slender  figure 
was  tense,  and  she  was  ready  to  be  off  like  an  arrow. 
"  You  are  Mr.  Haward's  friend  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  have 
heard  him  say  that  you  were  so  —  call  you  a  brave 
gentleman  "  — 

MacLean's  dark  face  flushed.  "  Yes,  we  are  friends, 
—  I  thank  God  for  it.  What  have  you  to  do  with 
that,  my  lass?" 

"  I  also  am  his  friend,"  said  Audrey,  coming  nearer. 
Her  hands  were  clasped,  her  bosom  heaving.  "  Listen ! 
To-day  I  was  sent  on  an  errand  to  a  house  far  up 
this  creek.  Coming  back,  I  took  the  short  way  home 
through  the  woods  because  of  the  storm.  It  led  me 
past  the  schoolhouse  down  by  the  big  swamp.  I 
thought  that  no  one  was  there,  and  I  went  and  sat 
down  upon  the  steps  to  rest  a  moment.  The  door  be 
hind  me  was  partly  open.  Then  I  heard  two  voices  : 
the  schoolmaster  and  Jean  Hugon  were  inside  —  close 


THE  BEND  IN  THE  ROAD        199 

•to  me  —  talking.  I  would  have  run  away,  but  I  heard 
Mr.  Haward's  name."  Her  hand  went  to  her  heart, 
and  she  drew  a  sobbing  breath. 

"  Well !  "  cried  MacLean  sharply. 

"  Mr.  Haward  went  yesterday  to  Williamsburgh  — 
alone  —  without  Juba.  He  rides  back  —  alone  —  to 
Fair  View  late  this  afternoon  —  he  is  riding  now. 
You  know  the  sharp  bend  in  the  road,  with  the  sfceep 
bank  above  and  the  pond  below  ?  " 

"  Ay,  where  the  road  nears  the  river.     Well  ?  " 

"  I  heard  all  that  Hugon  and  the  schoolmaster  said. 
[  hid  behind  a  fallen  tree  and  watched  them  leave  the 
schoolhouse ;  then  I  followed  them,  making  no  noise, 
back  to  the  creek,  where  Hugon  had  a  boat.  They 
crossed  the  creek,  and  fastened  the  boat  on  this  side. 
I  could  follow  them  no  farther ;  the  woods  hid  them ; 
but  they  have  gone  downstream  to  that  bend  in  the 
road.  Hugon  had  his  hunting-knife  and  pistols  ;  the 
schoolmaster  carried  a  coil  of  rope."  She  flung  back 
her  head,  and  her  hands  went  to  her  throat  as  though 
she  were  stifling.  "  The  turn  in  the  road  is  very  sharp. 
Just  past  the  bend  they  will  stretch  the  rope  from  side 
to  side,  fastening  it  to  two  trees.  He  will  be  hurrying 
home  before  the  bursting  of  the  storm  —  he  will  be 
riding  the  planter's  pace  "  — 

"  Man  and  horse  will  come  crashing  down !  "  cried 
the  storekeeper,  with  a  great  oath  "  And  then  "  — 

"  Hugon' s  knife,  so  there  will  be  no  noise.  .  .  . 
They  think  he  has  gold  upon  him :  that  is  for  the 
schoolmaster.  .  .  .  Hugon  is  an  Indian,  and  he  will 
hide  their  trail.  Men  will  think  that  some  outlying 
slave  was  in  the  woods,  and  set  upon  and  killed  him." 

Her  voice  broke  ;  then  went  on,  gathering  strength : 
"  It  was  so  late,  and  I  knew  that  he  would  ride  fast 


200  AUDREY 

because  of  the  storm.  I  remembered  this  house,  and 
thought  that,  if  I  called,  some  one  might  come  and 
ferry  me  over  the  creek.  Now  I  will  run  through  the 
woods  to  the  road,  for  I  must  reach  it  before  he  passes 
on  his  way  to  where  they  wait."  She  turned  her  face 
toward  the  pine  wood  beyond  the  house. 

"  Ay,  that  is  best ! "  agreed  the  storekeeper. 
"  Warned,  he  can  take  the  long  way  home,  and  Hu- 
gon  and  this  other  may  be  dealt  with  at  his  leisure. 
Come,  my  girl ;  there 's  no  time  to  lose." 

They  left  behind  them  the  creek,  the  blooming 
dooryard,  the  small  white  house,  and  the  gentle 
Quakeress.  The  woods  received  them,  and  they  came 
into  a  world  of  livid  greens  and  grays  dashed  here 
and  there  with  ebony,  —  a  world  that,  expectant  of 
the  storm,  had  caught  and  was  holding  its  breath. 
Save  for  the  noise  of  their  feet  upon  dry  leaves  that 
rustled  like  paper,  the  wood  was  soundless.  The 
light  that  lay  within  it,  fallen  from  skies  of  iron,  was 
wild  and  sinister;  there  was  no  air,  and  the  heat 
wrapped  them  like  a  mantle.  So  motionless  were  all 
things,  so  fixed  in  quietude  each  branch  and  bough, 
each  leaf  or  twig  or  slender  needle  of  the  pine,  that 
they  seemed  to  be  fleeing  through  a.  wood  of  stone, 
jade  and  malachite,  emerald  and  agate. 

They  hurried  on,  not  wasting  breath  in  speech. 
Now  and  again  MacLean  glanced  aside  at  the  girl, 
who  kept  beside  him,  moving  as  lightly  as  presently 
would  move  the  leaves  when  the  wind  arose.  He  re 
membered  certain  scurrilous  words  spoken  in  the  store 
a  week  agone  by  a  knot  of  purchasers,  but  when  he 
looked  at  her  face  he  thought  of  the  Highland  maiden 
whose  story  he  had  told.  As  for  Audrey,  she  saw  not 
the  woods  that  she  loved,  heard  not  the  leaves  beneath 


THE  BEND  IN   THE  ROAD  201 

her  feet,  knew  not  if  the  light  were  gold  or  gray.  She 
saw  only  a  horse  and  rider  riding  from  William sburgh, 
heard  only  the  rapid  hoofbeats.  All  there  was  of  her 
was  one  dumb  prayer  for  the  rider's  safety.  Her  mem 
ory  told  her  that  it  was  no  great  distance  to  the  road, 
but  her  heart  cried  out  that  it  was  so  far  away,  —  so 
far  away !  When  the  wood  thinned,  and  they  saw  be 
fore  them  the  dusty  strip,  pallid  and  lonely  beneath 
the  storm  clouds,  her  heart  leaped  within  her;  then 
grew  sick  for  fear  that  he  had  gone  by.  When  they 
stood,  ankle-deep  in  the  dust,  she  looked  first  toward 
the  north,  and  then  to  the  south.  Nothing  moved ;  all 
was  barren,  hushed,  and  lonely. 

"  How  can  we  know  ?  How  can  we  know  ?  "  she 
cried,  and  wrung  her  hands. 

MacLean's  keen  eyes  were  busily  searching  for  any 
sign  that  a  horseman  had  lately  passed  that  way.  At 
a  little  distance  above  them  a  shallow  stream  of  some 
width  flowed  across  the  way,  and  to  this  the  High 
lander  hastened,  looked  with  attention  at  the  road-bed 
where  it  emerged  from  the  water,  then  came  back  to 
Audrey  with  a  satisfied  air.  "There  are  no  hoof- 
prints,"  he  said.  "  No  marks  upon  the  dust.  None 
can  have  passed  for  some  hours." 

A  rotted  log,  streaked  with  velvet  moss  and  blotched 
with  fan-shaped,  orange-colored  fungi,  lay  by  the  way 
side,  and  the  two  sat  down  upon  it  to  wait  for  the 
coming  horseman.  Overhead  the  thunder  was  rolling, 
but  there  was  as  yet  no  breath  of  wind,  no  splash  of 
raindrops.  Opposite  them  rose  a  gigantic  pine,  tower 
ing  above  the  forest,  red-brown  trunk  and  ultimate 
cone  of  deep  green  foliage  alike  outlined  against  the 
dead  gloom  of  the  sky.  Audrey  shook  back  her  heavy 
hair  and  raised  her  face  to  the  roof  of  the  world ;  her 


202  AUDREY 

hands  were  clasped  upon  her  knee ;  her  bare  feet,  slim 
and  brown,  rested  on  a  carpet  of  moss  ;  she  was  as  still 
as  the  forest,  of  which,  to  the  Highlander,  she  sud 
denly  seemed  a  part.  When  they  had  kept  silence  for 
what  seemed  a  long  time,  he  spoke  to  her  with  some 
hesitation  :  "  You  have  known  Mr.  Haward  but  a  short 
while ;  the  months  are  very  few  since  he  came  from 
England." 

The  name  brought  Audrey  down  to  earth  again. 
"  Did  you  not  know  ?  "  she  asked  wonderingly.  "  You 
also  are  his  friend,  —  you  see  him  often.  I  thought 
that  at  times  he  would  have  spoken  of  me."  For  a 
moment  her  face  was  troubled,  though  only  for  a  mo 
ment.  "  But  I  know  why  he  did  not  so,"  she  said 
softly  to  herself.  "  He  is  not  one  to  speak  of  his  good 
deeds."  She  turned  toward  MacLean,  who  was  atten 
tively  watching  her.  "  But  I  may  speak  of  them,"  she 
said,  with  pride.  "I  have  known  Mr.  Haward  for 
years  and  years.  He  saved  my  life ;  he  brought  me 
here  from  the  Indian  country ;  he  was,  he  is,  so  kind 
to  me !  " 

Since  the  afternoon  beneath  the  willow-tree,  Ha 
ward,  while  encouraging  her  to  speak  of  her  long  past, 
her  sylvan  childhood,  her  dream  memories,  had  some 
what  sternly  checked  every  expression  of  gratitude  for 
the  part  which  he  himself  had  played  or  was  playing, 
in  the  drama  of  her  life.  Walking  in  the  minister's 
orchard,  sitting  in  the  garden  or  upon  the  terrace  of 
Fair  View  house,  drifting  on  the  sunset  river,  he 
waved  that  aside,  and  went  on  to  teach  her  another 
lesson.  The  teaching  was  exquisite ;  but  when  the 
lesson  for  the  day  was  over,  and  he  was  alone,  he  sat 
with  one  whom  he  despised.  The  learning  was  exqui 
site  ;  it  was  the  sweetest  song,  but  she  knew  not  its 


THE  BEND  IN  THE  ROAD        203 

name,  and  the  words  were  in  a  strange  tongue.  She 
was  Audrey,  that  she  knew ;  and  he,  —  he  was  the 
plumed  knight,  who,  for  the  lack  of  a  better  listener, 
told  her  gracious  tales  of  love,  showed  her  how  warm 
and  beautiful  was  this  world  that  she  sometimes  thought 
so  sad,  sang  to  her  sweet  lines  that  poets  had  made. 
Over  and  through  all  she  thought  she  read  the  name 
of  the  princess.  She  had  heard  him  say  that  with 
the  breaking  of  the  heat  he  should  go  to  Westover, 
and  one  day,  early  in  summer,  he  had  shown  her  the 
miniature  of  Evelyn  Byrd.  Because  she  loved  him 
blindly,  and  because  he  was  wise  in  his  generation, 
her  trust  in  him  was  steadfast  as  her  native  hills, 
large  as  her  faith  in  God.  Now  it  was  sweet  beneath 
her  tongue  to  be  able  to  tell  one  that  was  his  friend 
how  worthy  of  all  friendship  —  nay,  all  reverence  — 
he  was.  She  spoke  simply,  but  with  that  strange 
power  of  expression  which  nature  had  given  her. 
Gestures  with  her  hands,  quick  changes  in  the  tone  of 
her  voice,  a  countenance  that  gave  ample  utterance  to 
the  moment's  thought,  —  as  one  morning  in  the  Fair 
View  library  she  had  brought  into  being  that  long 
dead  Eloisa  whose  lines  she  spoke,  so  now  her  auditor 
of  to-day  thought  that  he  saw  the  things  of  which  she 
told. 

She  had  risen,  and  was  standing  in  the  wild  light, 
against  the  background  of  the  forest  that  was  breath 
less,  as  if  it  too  listened.  "  And  so  he  brought  me 
safely  to  this  land,"  she  said.  "  And  so  he  left  me 
here  for  ten  years,  safe  and  happy,  he  thought.  He 
has  told  me  that  all  that  while  he  thought  of  me  as 
safe  and  happy.  That  I  was  not  so,  —  why,  that  was 
not  his  fault !  When  he  came  back  I  was  both.  I 
have  never  seen  the  sunshine  so  bright  or  the  woods 


204  AUDREY 

so  fair  as  they  have  been  this  summer.  The  people 
with  whom  I  live  are  always  kind  to  me  now,  —  that 
is  his  doing.  And  ah  !  it  is  because  he  would  not  let 
Hugon  scare  or  harm  me  that  that  wicked  Indian 
waits  for  him  now  beyond  the  bend  in  the  road."  At 
the  thought  of  Hugon  she  shuddered,  and  her  eyes 
began  to  widen.  "  Have  we  not  been  here  a  long 
time?"  she  cried.  "Are  you  sure?  Oh,  God!  per 
haps  he  has  passed  !  " 

"  No,  no,"  answered  MacLean,  with  his  hand  upon 
her  arm.  "  There  is  no  sign  that  he  has  done  so.  It 
is  not  late;  it  is  that  heavy  cloud  above  our  heads 
that  has  so  darkened  the  air.  Perhaps  he  has  not  left 
Williamsburgh  at  all :  perhaps,  the  storm  threatening, 
he  waits  until  to-morrow." 

From  the  cloud  above  came  a  blinding  light  and  a 
great  crash  of  thunder,  —  the  one  so  intense,  the  other 
so  tremendous,  that  for  a  minute  the  two  stood  as  if 
stunned.  Then,  "  The  tree  !  "  cried  Audrey.  The 
great  pine,  blasted  and  afire,  uprooted  itself  and  fell 
from  them  like  a  reed  that  the  wind  has]  snapped. 
The  thunder  crash,  and  the  din  with  which  the  tree 
met  its  fellows  of  the  forest,  bore  them  down,  and 
finally  struck  the  earth  from  which  it  came,  seemed 
an  alarum  to  waken  all  nature  from  its  sleep.  The 
thunder  became  incessant,  and  the  wind  suddenly 
arising  the  forest  stretched  itself  and  began  to  speak 
with  no  uncertain  voice.  MacLean  took  his  seat 
again  upon  the  log,  but  Audrey  slipped  into  the  road, 
and  stood  in  the  whirling  dust,  her  arm  raised  above 
her  eyes,  looking  for  the  horseman  whose  approach 
she  could  not  hope  to  hear  through  the  clamor  of  the 
storm.  The  wind  lifted  her  long  hair,  and  the  rising 
dust  half  obscured  her  form,  bent  against  the  blast. 


THE  BEND  IN  THE  ROAD        205 

On  the  lonesome  road,  in  the  partial  light,  she  had 
the  seeming  of  an  apparition,  a  creature  tossed  like  a 
ball  from  the  surging  forest.  She  had  made  herself  a 
world,  and  she  had  become  its  product.  In  all  her 
ways,  to  the  day  of  her  death,  there  was  about  her  a 
touch  of  mirage,  illusion,  fantasy.  The  Highlander, 
imaginative  like  all  his  race,  and  a  believer  in  things 
not  of  heaven  nor  of  earth,  thought  of  spirits  of  the 
glen  and  the  shore. 

There  was  no  rain  as  yet ;  only  the  hurly-burly  of 
the  forest,  the  white  dust  cloud,  and  the  wild  commo 
tion  overhead.  Audrey  turned  to  MacLean,  watching 
her  in  silence.  "  He  is  coming !  "  she  cried.  "  There 
is  some  one  with  him.  Now,  now  he  is  safe  I " 


CHAPTER  XV 

HUGON   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND 

MACLEAN  sprang  up  from  the  log,  and,  joining  her, 
saw  indeed  two  horsemen  galloping  toward  them,  their 
heads  bent  and  riding  cloaks  raised  to  shield  them 
from  the  whirlwind  of  dust,  dead  leaves,  and  broken 
twigs.  He  knew  Haward's  powerful  steed  Mirza,  but 
the  other  horse  was  strange. 

The  two  rode  fast.  A  moment,  and  they  were 
splashing  through  the  stream ;  another,  and  the  horses, 
startled  by  Audrey's  cry  and  waving  arms  and  by  the 
sudden  and  violent  check  on  the  part  of  their  riders, 
were  rearing  and  curveting  across  the  road.  "  What 
the  devil !  "  cried  one  of  the  horsemen.  "  Imp  or 
sprite,  or  whatever  you  are,  look  out !  Haward,  your 
horse  will  trample  her !  " 

But  Audrey,  with  her  hand  on  Mirza's  bridle,  had 
no  fears.  Haward  stared  at  her  in  amazement. 
"  Child,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  Angus,  you  too  !  " 
as  the  storekeeper  advanced.  "  What  rendezvous  is 
this  ?  Mirza,  be  quiet !  " 

Audrey  left  her  warning  to  be  spoken  by  MacLean. 
She  was  at  peace,  her  head  against  Mirza's  neck,  her 
eyes  upon  Haward's  face,  clear  in  the  flashing  light 
ning.  That  gentleman  heard  the  story  with  his  usual 
calmness ;  his  companion  first  swore,  and  then  laughed. 

"  Here  's  a  Canterbury  tale !  "  he  cried.     "  Egad, 


AUDREY  LEFT  HER  WARNING  TO  BE  SPOKEN  BY  MACLEAN 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  207 

Haward,  are  we  to  take  this  skipping  rope,  vault  it  as 
though  we  were  courtiers  of  Lilliput  ?  Neither  of  us 
is  armed.  I  conceive  that  the  longest  way  around 
will  prove  our  shortest  way  home." 

"  My  dear  Colonel,  I  want  to  speak  with  these  two 
gentlemen." 

"But  at  your  leisure,  my  friend,  at  your  leisure, 
and  not  in  dying  tones !  I  like  not  what  I  hear  of 
Monsieur  Jean  Hugon's  pistols.  Flank  an  ambush ; 
don't  ride  into  it  open-eyed." 

"  Colonel  Byrd  is  right,"  said  the  storekeeper  ear 
nestly.  "  Ride  back,  the  two  of  you,  and  take  the 
bridle  path  that  will  carry  you  to  Fair  View  by  way 
of  the  upper  bridge.  In  the  mean  time,  I  will  run 
through  the  woods  to  Mr.  Taberer's  house,  cross  there, 
hurry  to  the  quarters,  rouse  the  overseer,  and  with  a 
man  or  two  we  will  recross  the  creek  by  the  lower 
bridge,  and  coming  upon  these  rogues  unawares,  give 
them  a  taste  of  their  own  medicine  !  We  '11  hale  them 
to  the  great  house ;  you  shall  have  speech  of  them  in 
your  own  hall." 

Neither  of  the  riders  being  able  to  suggest  a  better 
plan,  the  storekeeper,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  plunged 
into  the  forest,  and  was  soon  lost  to  view  amidst  its 
serried  trunks  and  waving  branches.  Haward  stooped 
from  his  saddle  ;  Audrey  set  her  bare  foot  upon  his 
booted  one,  and  he  swung  her  up  behind  him.  "  Put 
thine  arm  around  me,  child,"  he  told  her.  "  We  will 
ride  swiftly  through  the  storm.  Now,  Colonel,  to 
turn  our  backs  upon  the  enemy  ! " 

The  lightning  was  about  them,  and  they  raced  to 
the  booming  of  the  thunder.  Heavy  raindrops  began 
to  fall,  and  the  wind  was  a  power  to  drive  the  riders 
on.  Its  voice  shrilled  above  the  diapason  of  the  thun- 


208  AUDREY 

der;  the  forest  swung  to  its  long  cry.  When  the 
horses  turned  from  the  wide  into  the  narrow  road, 
they  could  no  longer  go  abreast.  Mirza  took  the 
lead,  and  the  bay  fell  a  length  behind.  The  branches 
now  hid  the  sky ;  between  the  flashes  there  was  Stygian 
gloom,  but  when  the  lightning  came  it  showed  far 
aisles  of  the  forest.  There  was  the  smell  of  rain  upon 
dusty  earth,  there  was  the  wine  of  coolness  after  heat, 
there  was  the  sense  of  being  borne  upon  the  wind, 
there  was  the  leaping  of  life  within  the  veins  to  meet 
the  awakened  life  without.  Audrey  closed  her  eyes, 
and  wished  to  ride  thus  forever.  Ha  ward,  too,  travel 
ing  fast  through  mist  and  rain  a  road  whose  end  was 
hidden,  facing  the  wet  wind,  hearing  the  voices  of 
earth  and  sky,  felt  his  spirit  mount  with  the  mounting 
voices.  So  to  ride  with  Love  to  doom !  On,  and  on, 
and  on !  Left  behind  the  sophist,  the  apologist,  the 
lover  of  the  world  with  his  tinsel  that  was  not  gold, 
his  pebbles  that  were  not  gems !  Only  the  man  thun 
dering  on,  —  the  man  and  his  mate  that  was  meant 
for  him  since  time  began !  He  raised  his  face  to  the 
strife  above,  he  drew  his  breath,  his  hand  closed  over 
the  hand  of  the  woman  riding  with  him.  At  the 
touch  a  thrill  ran  through  them  both ;  had  the  light 
ning  with  a  sword  of  flame  cut  the  world  from  beneath 
their  feet,  they  had  passed  on,  immortal  in  their  hap 
piness.  But  the  bolts  struck  aimlessly,  and  the  mo 
ment  fled.  Haward  was  Haward  again ;  he  recognized 
his  old  acquaintance  with  a  half-humorous,  half-dis 
dainful  smile.  The  road  was  no  longer  a  road  that 
gleamed  athwart  all  time  and  space ;  the  wind  had  lost 
its  trumpet  tone ;  Love  spoke  not  in  the  thunder,  nor 
seemed  so  high  a  thing  as  the  lit  heaven.  Audrey's 
hand  was  yet  within  his  clasp ;  but  it  was  flesh  and 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  209 

blood  that  he  touched,  not  spirit,  and  he  was  glad  that 
it  was  so.  For  her,  her  cheek  burned,  and  she  hid  her 
eyes.  She  had  looked  unawares,  as  by  the  lightning 
glare,  into  a  world  of  which  she  had  not  dreamed. 
Its  portals  had  shut ;  she  rode  on  in  the  twilight 
again,  and  she  could  not  clearly  remember  what  she 
had  seen.  But  she  was  sure  that  the  air  of  that  coun 
try  was  sweet,  she  was  faint  with  its  beauty,  her  heart 
beat  with  violence  to  its  far  echoes.  Moreover,  she 
was  dimly  aware  that  in  the  moment  when  she  had 
looked  there  had  been  a  baptism.  She  had  thought 
of  herself  as  a  child,  as  a  girl ;  now  and  for  evermore 
she  was  a  woman. 

They  left  the  forest  behind,  and  came  to  open  fields 
where  the  tobacco  had  been  beaten  to  earth.  The 
trees  now  stood  singly  or  in  shivering  copses.  Above, 
the  heavens  were  bare  to  their  gaze,  and  the  lightning 
gave  glimpses  of  pale  castles  overhanging  steel-gray, 
fathomless  abysses.  The  road  widened,  and  the  bay 
was  pushed  by  its  rider  to  Mirza's  side.  Fields  of 
corn  where  the  long  blades  wildly  clashed,  a  wood  of 
dripping  cedars,  a  patch  of  Oronoko,  tobacco  house  in 
midst,  rising  ground  and  a  vision  of  the  river,  then  a 
swift  descent  to  the  lower  creek,  and  the  bridge  across 
which  lay  the  road  that  ran  to  the  minister's  house. 
Audrey  spoke  earnestly  to  the  master  of  Fair  View, 
and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he  drew  rein.  "  We 
will  not  cross,  Colonel,"  he  declared.  "  My  preserver 
will  have  it  that  she  has  troubled  us  long  enough; 
and  indeed  it  is  no  great  distance  to  the  glebe  house, 
and  the  rain  has  stopped.  Have  down  with  thee, 
then,  obstinate  one  !  " 

Audrey  slipped  to  the  earth,  and  pushed  back  her 
hair  from  her  eyes.  Colonel  Byrd  observed  her  curi- 


210  AUDREY 

ously.  "  Faith,"  he  exclaimed,  "  't  is  the  Atalanta  of 
last  May  Day !  Well,  child,  I  believe  thou  hast  saved 
our  lives.  Come,  here  are  three  gold  baubles  that 
may  pass  for  Hippomenes'  apples !  " 

Audrey  put  her  hands  behind  her.  "  I  want  no 
money,  sir.  What  I  did  was  a  gift ;  it  has  no  price." 
She  was  only  Darden's  Audrey,  but  she  spoke  as 
proudly  as  a  princess  might  have  spoken.  Haward 
smiled  to  hear  her ;  and  seeing  the  smile,  she  was 
comforted.  "  For  he  understands,"  she  said  to  her 
self.  "  He  would  never  hurt  me  so."  It  did  not 
wound  her  that  he  said  no  word,  but  only  lifted  his 
hat,  when  she  curtsied  to  them  both.  There  was  to 
morrow,  and  he  would  praise  her  then  for  her  quick 
ness  of  wit  and  her  courage  in  following  Hugon,  whom 
she  feared  so  much. 

The  riders  watched  her  cross  the  bridge  and  turn 
into  the  road  that  led  to  the  glebe  house,  then  kept 
their  own  road  in  silence  until  it  brought  them  to  the 
doors  of  Fair  View. 

It  was  an  hour  later,  and  drawing  toward  dusk, 
when  the  Colonel,  having  changed  his  wet  riding 
clothes  for  a  suit  of  his  friend's,  came  down  the  stairs 
and  entered  the  Fair  View  drawing-room.  Haward, 
in  green,  with  rich  lace  at  throat  and  wrist,  was  there 
before  him,  walking  up  and  down  in  the  cheerful 
light  of  a  fire  kindled  against  the  dampness.  "  No 
sign  of  our  men,"  he  said,  as  the  other  entered. 
"  Come  to  the  fire.  Faith,  Colonel,  my  russet  and 
gold  becomes  you  mightily  !  Juba  took  you  the  aqua 
vifce?" 

"  Ay,  in  one  of  your  great  silver  goblets,  with  a 
forest  of  mint  atop.  Ha,  this  is  comfort !  "  He  sank 
into  an  armchair,  stretched  his  legs  before  the  blaze, 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  211 

and  began  to  look  about  him.  "  I  have  ever  said, 
Haward,  that  of  all  the  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance 
you  have  the  most  exact  taste.  I  told  Bubb  Doding- 
ton  as  much,  last  year,  at  Eastbury.  Damask,  mir 
rors,  paintings,  china,  cabinets,  —  all  chaste  and  quiet, 
extremely  elegant,  but  without  ostentation  !  It  hath 
an  air,  too.  I  would  swear  a  woman  had  the  placing 
of  yonder  painted  jars  !  " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Haward,  smiling.  "  The 
wife  of  the  minister  of  this  parish  was  good  enough  to 
come  to  my  assistance." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Colonel  dryly.  "  Did  Atalanta 
come  as  well  ?  She  is  his  reverence's  servant,  is  she 
not?" 

"  No,"  answered  Haward  shortly  to  the  last  ques 
tion,  and,  leaning  across,  stirred  the  fire. 

The  light  caused  to  sparkle  a  jeweled  pin  worn  in 
the  lace  of  his  ruffles,  and  the  toy  caught  the  Colonel's 
eye.  "  One  of  Spots  wood's  golden  horseshoes  !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  I  had  them  wrought  for  him  in  London. 
Had  they  been  so  many  stars  and  garters,  he  could 
have  made  no  greater  pother !  'T  is  ten  years  since  I 
saw  one." 

Haward  detached  the  horseshoe-shaped  bauble  from 
the  lace,  and  laid  it  on  the  other's  palm.  The  master 
of  Westover  regarded  it  curiously,  and  read  aloud  the 
motto  engraved  upon  its  back :  "  '  Sic  Juvat  Tran- 
scendere  Montes.'  A  barren  exploit !  But  some  day 
I  too  shall  please  myself  and  cross  these  sun-kissing 
hills.  And  so  the  maid  with  the  eyes  is  not  his  rever 
ence's  servant  ?  What  is  she  ?  " 

Haward  took  the  golden  horseshoe  in  his  own  hand, 
and  fell  to  studying  it  in  the  firelight.  "  I  wore  this 
to-night,"  he  said  at  length,  with  deliberation,  "  in 


212  AUDREY 

order  that  it  might  bring  to  your  mind  that  sprightly 
ultramontane  expedition  in  which,  my  dear  Colonel, 
had  you  not  been  in  England,  you  had  undoubtedly 
borne  a  part.  You  have  asked  me  a  question ;  I  will 
answer  it  with  a  story,  and  so  the  time  may  pass  more 
rapidly  until  the  arrival  of  Mr.  MacLean  with  our 
friends  who  set  traps."  He  turned  the  mimic  horse 
shoe  this  way  and  that,  watching  the  small  gems,  that 
simulated  nails,  flash  in  the  red  light.  "  Some  days 
to  the  west  of  Germanna,"  he  said,  "  when  about  us 
were  the  lesser  mountains,  and  before  us  those  that 
propped  the  sky,  we  came  one  sunny  noon  upon  a  val 
ley,  a  little  valley,  very  peaceful  below  the  heights. 
A  stream  shone  through  it,  and  there  were  noble  trees, 
and  beside  the  stream  the  cabin  of  a  frontiersman." 

On  went  the  story.  The  fire  crackled,  reflecting 
itself  in  mirrors  and  polished  wood  and  many  small 
window  panes.  Outside,  the  rain  had  ceased,  but  the 
wind  and  the  river  murmured  loudly,  and  the  shadows 
of  the  night  were  gathering.  When  the  narrative  was 
ended,  he  who  had  spoken  and  he  who  had  listened 
sat  staring  at  the  fire.  "  A  pretty  story !  "  said  the 
Colonel  at  last.  "  Dick  Steele  should  have  had  it ; 
't  would  have  looked  vastly  well  over  against  his  Inkle 
and  Yarico.  There  the  maid  the  savior,  here  the 
man ;  there  perfidy,  here  plain  honesty  ;  there  for  the 
woman  a  fate  most  tragical,  here  "  — 

"  Here  ?  "  said  Haward,  as  the  other  paused. 

The  master  of  Westover  took  out  his  snuffbox. 
"And  here  the  continued  kindness  of  a  young  and 
handsome  preserver,"  he  said  suavely,  and  extended 
the  box  to  his  host. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Haward.  He  rose,  and 
stood  leaning  against  the  mantel,  his  eyes  upon  the 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  213 

older  man's  somewhat  coldly  smiling  countenance. 
"  She  is  as  innocent,  as  high  of  soul,  and  as  pure  of 
heart  as  —  as  Evelyn." 

The  Colonel  clicked  to  the  lid  of  his  box.  "  You 
will  be  so  good  as  to  leave  my  daughter's  name  out  of 
the  conversation." 

"As  you  please,"  Haward  answered,  with  hauteur. 

Another  silence,  broken  by  the  guest.  "  Why  did 
you  hang  that  kit-kat  of  yourself  behind  the  door, 
Haward  ?  "  he  asked  amiably.  "  'T  is  too  fine  a  piece 
to  be  lost  in  shadow.  I  would  advise  a  change  with 
yonder  shepherdess." 

"  I  do  not  know  why,"  said  Haward  restlessly.  "  A 
whim.  Perhaps  by  nature  I  court  shadows  and  dark 
corners." 

"  That  is  not  so,"  Byrd  replied  quietly.  He  had 
turned  in  his  chair,  the  better  to  observe  the  distant 
portrait  that  was  now  lightened,  now  darkened,  as  the 
flames  rose  and  fell.  "  A  speaking  likeness,"  he  went 
on,  glancing  from  it  to  the  original  and  back  again. 
"  I  ever  thought  it  one  of  Kneller's  best.  The  por 
trait  of  a  gentleman.  Only  —  you  have  noticed,  I 
dare  say,  how  in  the  firelight  familiar  objects  change 
aspect  many  times  ?  —  only  just  now  it  seemed  to  me 
that  it  lost  that  distinction  "  — 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Haward,  as  he  paused. 

The  Colonel  went  on  slowly :  "  Lost  that  distinction, 
and  became  the  portrait  of  "  — 

"  Well  ?  Of  whom  ?  "  asked  Haward,  and,  with  his 
eyes  shaded  by  his  hand,  gazed  not  at  the  portrait,  but 
at  the  connoisseur  in  gold  and  russet. 

"  Of  a  dirty  tradesman,"  said  the  master  of  West- 
over  lightly.  "  In  a  word,  of  an  own  brother  to  Mr. 
Thomas  Inkle." 


214=  AUDREY 

A  dead  silence ;  then  Haward  spoke  calmly :  "  I 
will  not  take  offense,  Colonel  Byrd.  Perhaps  I  should 
not  take  it  even  were  it  not  as  my  guest  and  in  my 
drawing-room  that  you  have  so  spoken.  We  will,  if 
you  please,  consign  my  portrait  to  the  obscurity  from 
which  it  has  been  dragged.  In  good  time  here  comes 
Juba  to  light  the  candles  and  set  the  shadows  flee- 
ing." 

Leaving  the  fire  he  moved  to  a  window,  and  stood 
looking  out  upon  the  windy  twilight.  From  the  back 
of  the  house  came  a  sound  of  voices  and  of  footsteps. 
The  Colonel  put  up  his  snuffbox  and  brushed  a  grain 
from  his  ruffles.  "  Enter  two  murderers  !  "  he  said 
briskly.  "  Will  you  have  them  here,  Haward,  or  shall 
we  go  into  the  hall  ?  " 

"  Light  all  the  candles,  Juba,"  ordered  the  master. 
"  Here,  I  think,  Colonel,  where  the  stage  will  set  them 
off.  Juba,  go  ask  Mr.  MacLean  and  Saunderson  to 
bring  their  prisoners  here." 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  from  the  contemplation  of 
the  night  without  to  the  brightly  lit  room.  "  This  is 
a  murderous  fellow,  this  Hugon,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
his  seat  in  a  great  chair  drawn  before  a  table.  "  I 
have  heard  Colonel  Byrd  argue  in  favor  of  imitating 
John  Rolfe's  early  experiment,  and  marrying  the  white 
man  to  the  heathen.  We  are  about  to  behold  the 
result  of  such  an  union." 

"  I  would  not  have  the  practice  universal,"  said  the 
Colonel  coolly,  "  but  't  would  go  far  toward  remedying 
loss  of  scalps  in  this  world,  and  of  infidel  souls  here 
after.  Your  sprightly  lover  is  a  most  prevailing  mis 
sionary.  But  here  is  our  Huguenot-Monacan." 

MacLean,  very  wet  and  muddy,  with  one  hand 
wrapped  in  a  blood-stained  rag,  came  in  first.  "  We 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  215 

found  them  hidden  in  the  bushes  at  the  turn  of  the 
road,"  he  said  hastily.  "  The  schoolmaster  was  more 
peaceably  inclined  than  any  Quaker,  but  Hugon  fought 
like  the  wolf  that  he  is.  Can't  you  hang  him  out  of 
hand,  Haward?  Give  me  a  land  where  the  chief 
does  justice  while  the  king  looks  the  other  way ! " 
He  turned  and  beckoned.  "  Bring  them  in,  Saunder- 
son." 

There  was  no  discomposure  in  the  schoolmaster's 
dress,  and  as  little  in  his  face  or  manner.  He  bowed 
to  the  two  gentlemen,  then  shambled  across  to  the  fire, 
and  as  best  he  could  held  out  his  bound  hands  to  the 
grateful  blaze.  "  May  I  ask,  sir,"  he  said,  in  his  life 
less  voice,  "  why  it  is  that  this  youth  and  I,  resting  in 
all  peace  and  quietness  beside  a  public  road,  should  be 
set  upon  by  your  servants,  overpowered,  bound,  and 
haled  to  your  house  as  to  a  judgment  bar  ?  " 

Haward,  to  whom  this  speech  was  addressed,  gave 
it  no  attention.  His  gaze  was  upon  Hugon,  who  in 
his  turn  glared  at  him  alone.  Haward  had  a  subtle 
power  of  forcing  and  fixing  the  attention  of  a  com 
pany  ;  in  crowded  rooms,  without  undue  utterance  or 
moving  from  his  place,  he  was  apt  to  achieve  the  cen 
tre  of  the  stage,  the  head  of  the  table.  Now,  the  half- 
breed,  by  very  virtue  of  the  passion  which,  false  to  his 
Indian  blood,  shook  him  like  a  leaf,  of  a  rage  which 
overmastered  and  transformed,  reached  at  a  bound  the 
Englishman's  plane  of  distinction.  His  great  wig,  of 
a  fashion  years  gone  by,  was  pulled  grotesquely  aside, 
showing  the  high  forehead  and  shaven  crown  beneath  ; 
his  laced  coat  and  tawdry  waistcoat  and  ruffled  shirt 
were  torn  and  foul  with  mud  and  mould,  but  the  man 
himself  made  to  be  forgotten  the  absurdity  of  his  trap 
pings.  Gone,  for  him,  were  his  captors,  his  accom- 


216  AUDREY 

plice,  the  spectator  in  gold  and  russet ;  to  Haward, 
also,  sitting  very  cold,  very  quiet,  with  narrowed  eyes, 
they  were  gone.  He  was  angered,  and  in  the  mood  to 
give  rein  after  his  own  fashion  to  that  anger.  Mac- 
Lean  and  the  master  of  Westover,  the  overseer  and 
the  schoolmaster,  were  forgotten,  and  he  and  Hugon 
met  alone  as  they  might  have  met  in  the  forest.  Be 
tween  them,  and  without  a  spoken  word,  the  two  made 
this  fact  to  be  recognized  by  the  other  occupants  of  the 
drawing-room.  Colonel  Byrd,  who  had  been  standing 
with  his  hand  upon  the  table,  moved  backward  until 
he  joined  MacLean  beside  the  closed  door ;  Saunder- 
son  drew  near  to  the  schoolmaster ;  and  the  centre  of 
the  room  was  left  to  the  would-be  murderer  and  the 
victim  that  had  escaped  him. 

"  Monsieur  le  Monacan,"  said  Haward. 

Hugon  snarled  like  an  angry  wolf,  and  strained  at 
the  rope  which  bound  his  arms. 

Haward  went  on  evenly  :  "  Your  tribe  has  smoked 
the  peace  pipe  with  the  white  man.  I  was  not  told  it 
by  singing  birds,  but  by  the  great  white  father  at 
Williamsburgh.  They  buried  the  hatchet  very  deep ; 
the  dead  leaves  of  many  moons  of  Cohonks  lie  thick 
upon  the  place  where  they  buried  it.  Why  have  you 
made  a  warpath,  treading  it  alone  of  your  color  ?  " 

"  Diable  !  "  cried  Hugon.  "  Pig  of  an  Englishman  ! 
I  will  kill  you  for  "  — 

"  For  an  handful  of  blue  beads,"  said  Haward,  with 
a  cold  smile.  "  And  I,  dog  of  an  Indian !  I  will 
send  a  Nottoway  to  teach  the  Monacans  how  to  lay  a 
snare  and  hide  a  trail." 

The  trader,  gasping  with  passion,  leaned  across  the 
table  until  his  eyes  were  within  a  foot  of  Haward's  un 
moved  face.  "  Who  showed  you  the  trail  and  told 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  217 

you  of  the  snare  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  Tell  me  that,  you 
Englishman,  —  tell  me  that !  " 

"  A  storm  bird,"  said  Haward  calmly.  "  Okee  is 
perhaps  angry  with  his  Monacans,  and  sent  it." 

"  Was  it  Audrey  ?  " 

Haward  laughed.  "  No,  it  was  not  Audrey.  And  so, 
Monacan,  you  have  yourself  fallen  into  the  pit  which 
you  digged." 

From  the  fireplace  came  the  schoolmaster's  slow 
voice :  "  Dear  sir,  can  you  show  the  pit  ?  Why  should 
this  youth  desire  to  harm  you  ?  Where  is  the  storm 
bird  ?  Can  you  whistle  it  before  a  justice  of  the  peace 
or  into  a  court  room  ?  " 

If  Haward  heard,  it  did  not  appear.  He  was  lean 
ing  back  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  trader's 
twitching  face  in  a  cold  and  smiling  regard.  "  Well, 
Monacan  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  half-breed  straightened  himself,  and  with  a 
mighty  effort  strove  in  vain  for  a  composure  that  should 
match  the  other's  cold  self-command,  —  a  command 
which  taunted  and  stung  now  at  this  point,  now  at 
that.  "  I  am  a  Frenchman !  "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
broke  with  passion.  "I  am  of  the  noblesse  of  the 
land  of  France,  which  is  a  country  that  is  much  grander 
than  Virginia!  Old  Pierre  at  Monacan-Town  told 
me  these  things.  My  father  changed  his  name  when 
he  came  across  the  sea,  so  I  bear  not  the  de  which  is  a 
sign  of  a  great  man.  Listen,  you  Englishman!  I 
trade,  I  prosper,  I  buy  me  land,  I  begin  to  build  me  a 
house.  There  is  a  girl  that  I  see  every  hour,  every 
minute,  while  I  am  building  it.  She  says  she  loves 
me  not,  but  nevertheless  I  shall  wed  her.  Now  I  see 
her  in  this  room,  now  in  that ;  she  comes  down  the 
stair,  she  smiles  at  the  window,  she  stands  on  the 


218  AUDREY 

doorstep  to  welcome  me  when  I  come  home  from  my 
hunting  and  trading  in  the  woods  so  far  away.  I  bring 
her  fine  skins  of  the  otter,  the  beaver,  and  the  fawn  ; 
beadwork  also  from  the  villages  and  bracelets  of 
copper  and  pearl.  The  flowers  bloom  around  her, 
and  my  heart  sings  to  see  her  upon  my  doorstep.  .  .  . 
The  flowers  are  dead,  and  you  have  stolen  the  girl 
away.  .  .  .  There  was  a  stream,  and  the  sun  shone 
upon  it,  and  you  and  she  were  in  a  boat.  I  walked 
alone  upon  the  bank,  and  in  my  heart  I  left  building 
my  house  and  fell  to  other  work.  You  laughed ;  one 
day  you  will  laugh  no  more.  That  was  many  suns 
ago.  I  have  watched  "  — 

Foam  was  upon  his  lips,  and  he  strained  without 
ceasing  at  his  bonds.  Already  pulled  far  awry,  his 
great  peruke,  a  cataract  of  hair  streaming  over  his 
shoulders,  shading  and  softening  the  swarthy  features 
between  its  curled  waves,  now  slipped  from  his  head 
and  fell  to  the  floor.  The  change  which  its  absence 
wrought  was  startling.  Of  the  man  the  moiety  that 
was  white  disappeared.  The  shaven  head,  its  poise, 
its  features,  were  Indian ;  the  soul  was  Indian,  and 
looked  from  Indian  eyes.  Suddenly,  for  the  last  trans 
forming  touch,  came  a  torrent  of  words  in  a  strange 
tongue,  the  tongue  of  his  mother.  Of  what  he  was 
speaking,  what  he  was  threatening,  no  one  of  them 
could  tell ;  he  was  a  savage  giving  voice  to  madness 
and  hate. 

Haward  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  table,  and, 
rising,  walked  across  the  room  to  the  window.  Hugon 
followed  him,  straining  at  the  rope  about  his  arms  and 
speaking  thickly.  His  eyes  were  glaring,  his  teeth 
bared.  When  he  was  so  close  that  the  Virginian  could 
feel  his  hot  breath,  the  latter  turned,  and  uttering 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  219 

an  oath  of  disgust  struck  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  lips.  With  the  cry  of  an  animal,  Hugon,  bound 
as  he  was,  threw  himself  bodily  upon  his  foe,  who  in 
his  turn  flung  the  trader  from  him  with  a  violence 
that  sent  him  reeling  against  the  wall.  Here  Saunder- 
son,  a  man  of  powerful  build,  seized  him  by  the  shoul 
ders,  holding  him  fast;  MacLean,  too,  hurriedly 
crossed  from  the  door.  There  was  no  need,  for  the 
half-breed's  frenzy  was  spent.  He  stood  with  glitter 
ing  eyes  following  Haward's  every  motion,  but  quite 
silent,  his  frame  rigid  in  the  overseer's  grasp. 

Colonel  Byrd  went  up  to  Haward  and  spoke  in  a 
low  voice :  "  Best  send  them  at  once  to  Williams- 
burgh." 

Haward  shook  his  head.  "  I  cannot,"  he  said,  with 
a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  There  is  no  proof." 

"  No  proof !  "  exclaimed  his  guest  sharply.  "  You 
mean  "  — 

The  other  met  his  stare  of  surprise  with  an  imper 
turbable  countenance.  "  What  I  say,"  he  answered 
quietly.  "  My  servants  find  two  men  lurking  beside 
a  road  that  I  am  traveling.  Being  somewhat  over- 
zealous,  they  take  them  up  upon  suspicion  of  meaning 
mischief  and  bring  them  before  me.  It  is  all  guess 
work  why  they  were  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  and  what 
they  wanted  there.  There  is  no  proof,  no  witness  "  — 

"  I  see  that  there  is  no  witness  that  you  care  to 
call,"  said  the  Colonel  coldly. 

Haward  waved  his  hand.  "  There  is  no  witness," 
he  said,  without  change  of  tone.  "And  therefore, 
Colonel,  I  am  about  to  dismiss  the  case." 

With  a  slight  bow  to  his  guest  he  left  the  window, 
and  advanced  to  the  group  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
"  Saunderson,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  take  these  two  men 


220  AUDREY 

to  the  quarter  and  cut  their  bonds.  Give  them  a  start 
of  fifty  yards,  then  loose  the  dogs  and  hunt  them  from 
the  plantation.  You  have  men  outside  to  help  you  ? 
Very  well ;  go !  Mr.  MacLean,  will  you  see  this  chase 
fairly  started  ?  " 

The  Highlander,  who  had  become  very  thoughtful 
of  aspect  since  entering  the  room,  and  who  had  not 
shared  Saunderson's  start  of  surprise  at  the  master's 
latest  orders,  nodded  assent.  Haward  stood  for  a 
moment  gazing  steadily  at  Hugon,  but  with  no  notice 
to  bestow  upon  the  bowing  schoolmaster ;  then  walked 
over  to  the  harpsichord,  and,  sitting  down,  began  to 
play  an  old  tune,  soft  and  slow,  with  pauses  between 
the  notes.  When  he  came  to  the  final  chord  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  Colonel,  standing  before  the 
mantel,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  fire.  "  So  they  have 
gone,"  he  said.  "  Good  riddance !  A  pretty  brace  of 
villains!" 

"  I  should  be  loath  to  have  Monsieur  Jean  Hugon 
for  my  enemy,"  said  the  Colonel  gravely. 

Haward  laughed.  "  I  was  told  at  Williamsburgh 
that  a  party  of  traders  go  to  the  Southern  Indians  to 
morrow,  and  he  with  them.  Perhaps  a  month  or  two 
of  the  woods  will  work  a  cure." 

He  fell  to  playing  again,  a  quiet,  plaintive  air. 
When  it  was  ended,  he  rose  and  went  over  to  the  fire 
to  keep  his  guest  company  ;  but  finding  him  in  a  mood 
for  silence,  presently  fell  silent  himself,  and  took  to 
viewing  structures  of  his  own  building  in  the  red  hol 
lows  between  the  logs.  This  mutual  taciturnity  lasted 
until  the  announcement  of  supper,  and  was  relapsed 
into  at  intervals  during  the  meal ;  but  when  they  had 
returned  to  the  drawing-room  the  two  talked  until  it 
was  late,  and  the  fire  had  sunken  to  ash  and  embers. 


HUGON  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  221 

Before  they  parted  for  the  night  it  was  agreed  that  the 
master  of  Westover  should  remain  with  the  master  of 
Fair  View  for  a  day  or  so,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
the  latter  gentleman  would  accompany  the  former  to 
Westover  for  a  visit  of  indefinite  length. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AUDREY   AND    EVELYN 

HUGON  went  a-trading  to  the  Southern  Indians, 
but  had  lately  returned  to  his  lair  at  the  crossroads 
ordinary,  when,  upon  a  sunny  September  morning, 
Audrey  and  Mistress  Deborah,  mounted  upon  the  sor 
riest  of  Darden's  sorry  steeds,  turned  from  Duke  of 
Gloucester  into  Palace  Street.  They  had  parted  with 
the  minister  before  his  favorite  ordinary,  and  were  on 
their  way  to  the  house  where  they  themselves  were  to 
lodge  during  the  three  days  of  town  life  which  Dar- 
den  had  vouchsafed  to  offer  them. 

For  a  month  or  more  Virginia  had  been  wearing 
black  ribbons  for  the  King,  who  died  in  June,  but  in 
the  last  day  or  so  there  had  been  a  reversion  to  bright 
colors.  This  cheerful  change  had  been  wrought  by 
the  arrival  in  the  York  of  the  Fortune  of  Bristol, 
with  the  new  governor  on  board.  His  Excellency  had 
landed  at  Yorktown,  and,  after  suitable  entertainment 
at  the  hands  of  its  citizens,  had  proceeded  under  es 
cort  to  Williamsburgh.  The  entry  into  the  town  was 
triumphal,  and  when,  at  the  doorway  of  his  Palace, 
the  Governor  turned,  and  addressed  a  pleasing  ora 
tion  to  the  people  whom  he  was  to  rule  in  the  name  of 
the  King  and  my  Lord  of  Orkney,  enthusiasm  reached 
its  height.  At  night  the  town  was  illuminated,  and 
well-nigh  all  its  ladies  and  gentlemen  visited  the  Pal- 


AUDREY  AND  EVELYN  223 

ace,  in  order  to  pay  their  duty  to  its  latest  occupant. 
It  was  a  pleasure-loving  people,  and  the  arrival  of  a 
governor  an  occasion  of  which  the  most  must  be  made. 
Gentlemen  of  consideration  had  come  in  from  every 
county,  bringing  with  them  wives  and  daughters.  In 
the  mild,  sunshiny  weather  the  crowded  town  over 
flowed  into  square  and  street  and  garden.  Every 
where  were  bustle  and  gayety,  —  gayety  none  the  less 
for  the  presence  of  thirty  or  more  ministers  of  the 
Established  Church.  For  Mr.  Commissary  Blair  had 
convoked  a  meeting  of  the  clergy  for  the  considera 
tion  of  evils  affecting  that  body,  —  not,  alas !  from 
without  alone.  The  Governor,  arriving  so  oppor 
tunely,  must,  too,  be  addressed  upon  the  usual  sub 
jects  of  presentation,  induction,  and  all-powerful 
vestries.  It  was  fitting,  also,  that  the  college  of 
William  and  Mary  should  have  its  say  upon  the  oc 
casion,  and  the  brightest  scholar  thereof  was  even  now 
closeted  with  the  Latin  master.  That  the  copy  of 
verses  giving  the  welcome  of  so  many  future  planters, 
Burgesses,  and  members  of  Council  would  be  choice 
in  thought  and  elegant  in  expression,  there  could  be 
no  reasonable  doubt.  The  Council  was  to  give  an 
entertainment  at  the  Capitol ;  one  day  had  been  set 
aside  for  a  muster  of  militia  in  the  meadow  beyond 
the  college,  another  for  a  great  horse-race  ;  many 
small  parties  were  arranged  ;  and  last,  but  not  least,  on 
the  night  of  the  day  following  Darden's  appearance  in 
town,  his  Excellency  was  to  give  a  ball  at  the  Palace. 
Add  to  all  this  that  two  notorious  pirates  were  standing 
their  trial  before  a  court-martial,  with  every  prospect 
of  being  hanged  within  the  se'ennight ;  that  a  deputa 
tion  of  Nottoways  and  Meherrins,  having  business 
with  the  white  fathers  in  Williamsburgh,  were  to  be 


224  AUDREY 

persuaded  to  dance  their  wildest,  whoop  their  loudest, 
around  a  bonfire  built  in  the  market  square  ;  that  at 
the  playhouse  Cato  was  to  be  given  with  extraordinary 
magnificence,  and  one  may  readily  see  that  there 
might  have  been  found,  in  this  sunny  September  week, 
places  less  entertaining  than  Williamsburgh. 

Darden's  old  white  horse,  with  its  double  load, 
plodded  along  the  street  that  led  to  the  toy  Palace  of 
this  toy  capital.  The  Palace,  of  course,  was  not  its 
riders'  destination ;  instead,  when  they  had  crossed 
Nicholson  Street,  they  drew  up  before  a  particularly 
small  white  house,  so  hidden  away  behind  lilac  bushes 
and  trellised  grapevines  that  it  gave  but  here  and 
there  a  pale  hint  of  its  existence.  It  was  planted  in 
the  shadow  of  a  larger  building,  and  a  path  led  around 
it  to  what  seemed  a  pleasant,  shady,  and  extensive 
garden. 

Mistress  Deborah  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 
"  Seven  years  come  Martinmas  since  I  last  stayed 
overnight  with  Mary  Stagg !  And  we  were  born  in 
the  same  village,  and  at  Bath  what  mighty  friends  we 
were  !  She  was  playing  Dorinda,  —  that 's  in  '  The 
Beaux'  Stratagem/  Audrey,  —  and  her  dress  was  just 
an  old  striped  Persian,  vastly  unbecoming.  Her 

Ladyship's  pink  alamode,  that  Major  D spilt  a 

dish  of  chocolate  over,  she  gave  to  me  for  carrying  a 
note ;  and  I  gave  it  to  Mary  (she  was  Mary  Baker 
then),  —  for  I  looked  hideous  in  pink,  — and  she  was 
that  grateful,  as  well  she  might  be !  Mary,  Mary  !  " 

A  slender  woman,  with  red-brown  hair  and  faded 
cheeks,  came  running  from  the  house  to  the  gate. 
"  At  last,  my  dear  Deborah !  I  vow  I  had  given  you 
up!  Says  I  to  Mirabell  an  hour  ago,  —  you  know 
that  is  my  name  for  Charles,  for  't  was  when  he 


AUDREY  AND  EVELYN  225 

played  Mirabell  to  my  Millamant  that  we  fell  in  love, 
—  'Well,'  says  I,  'I'll  lay  a  gold-furbelowed  scarf 
to  a  yard  of  oznaburg  that  Mr.  Darden,  riding  home 
through  the  night,  and  in  liquor,  perhaps,  has  fallen 
and  broken  his  neck,  and  Deborah  can't  come.'  And 
says  Mirabell  —  But  la,  my  dear,  there  you  stand  in 
your  safeguard,  and  I  'm  keeping  the  gate  shut  on  you ! 
Come  in.  Come  in,  Audrey.  Why,  you  've  grown 
to  be  a  woman !  You  were  just  a  brown  slip  of  a 
thing,  that  Lady  Day,  two  years  ago,  that  I  spent 
with  Deborah.  Come  in  the  both  of  you.  There  are 
cakes  and  a  bottle  of  Madeira." 

Audrey  fastened  the  horse  against  the  time  that 
Darden  should  remember  to  send  for  it,  and  then  fol 
lowed  the  ex-waiting-woman  and  the  former  queen  of 
a  company  of  strollers  up  a  grassy  path  and  through 
a  little  green  door  into  a  pleasant  room,  where  grape 
leaves  wreathed  the  windows  and  cast  their  shadows 
upon  a  sanded  floor.  At  one  end  of  the  room  stood  a 
great,  rudely  built  cabinet,  and  before  it  a  long  table, 
strewn  with  an  orderly  litter  of  such  slender  articles 
of  apparel  as  silk  and  tissue  scarfs,  gauze  hoods, 
breast  knots,  silk  stockings,  and  embroidered  gloves. 
Mistress  Deborah  must  needs  run  and  examine  these 
at  once,  and  Mistress  Mary  Stagg,  wife  of  the  lessee, 
manager,  and  principal  actor  of  the  Williamsburgh 
theatre,  looked  complacently  over  her  shoulder.  The 
minister's  wife  sighed  again,  this  time  with  envy. 

"  What  with  the  theatre,  and  the  bowling  green, 
and  tea  in  your  summer-house,  and  dancing  lessons, 
and  the  sale  of  these  fine  things,  you  and  Charles 
must  turn  a  pretty  penny !  The  luck  that  some  folk 
have !  You  were  always  fortunate,  Mary." 

Mistress  Stagg  did  not  deny  the  imputation.     But 


226  AUDREY 

she  was  a  kindly  soul,  who  had  not  forgotten  the  gift 
of  my  Lady  Squander's  pink  alamode.  The  chocolate 
stain  had  not  been  so  very  large. 

"  I  've  laid  by  a  pretty  piece  of  sarcenet  of  which 
to  make  you  a  capuchin,"  she  said  promptly.  "  Now, 
here  's  the  wine.  Shan't  we  go  into  the  garden,  and 
sip  it  there?  Peggy,"  to  the  black  girl  holding  a 
salver,  "  put  the  cake  and  wine  on  the  table  in  the 
arbor ;  then  sit  here  by  the  window,  and  call  me  if 
any  come.  My  dear  Deborah,  I  doubt  if  I  have  so 
much  as  a  ribbon  left  by  the  end  of  the  week.  The 
town  is  that  gay !  I  says  to  Mirabell  this  morning, 
says  I,  '  Lord,  my  dear,  it  a'most  puts  me  in  mind  of 
Bath ! '  And  Mirabell  says  —  But  here  's  the  garden 
door.  Now,  is  n't  it  cool  and  pleasant  out  here  ?  Au 
drey  may  gather  us  some  grapes.  Yes,  they  're  very 
fine,  full  bunches  ;  it  has  been  a  bounteous  year." 

The  grape  arbor  hugged  the  house,  but  beyond  it 
was  a  pretty,  shady,  fancifully  laid  out  garden,  with 
shell-bordered  walks,  a  grotto,  a  summer-house,  and  a 
gate  opening  into  Nicholson  Street.  Beyond  the  gar 
den  a  glimpse  was  to  be  caught  through  the  trees  of  a 
trim  bowling  green.  It  had  rained  the  night  before, 
and  a  delightful,  almost  vernal  freshness  breathed  in 
the  air.  The  bees  made  a  great  buzzing  amongst  the 
grapes,  and  the  birds  in  the  mulberry-trees  sang  as 
though  it  were  nesting  time.  Mistress  Stagg  and  her 
old  acquaintance  sat  at  a  table  placed  in  the  shadow 
of  the  vines,  and  sipped  their  wine,  while  Audrey 
obediently  gathered  clusters  of  the  purple  fruit,  and 
thought  the  garden  very  fine,  but  oh,  not  like —  There 
could  be  no  garden  in  the  world  so  beautiful  and  so 
dear  as  that !  And  she  had  not  seen  it  for  so  long, 
so  long  a  time.  She  wondered  if  she  would  ever  see 
it  again. 


AUDREY  AND   EVELYN  227 

When  she  brought  the  fruit  to  the  table,  Mistress 
Stagg  made  room  for  her  kindly  enough  ;  and  she  sat 
and  drank  her  wine  and  went  to  her  world  of  dreams, 
while  her  companions  bartered  town  and  country  gos 
sip.  It  has  been  said  that  the  small  white  house  ad 
joined  a  larger  building.  A  window  in  this  structure, 
which  had  much  the  appearance  of  a  barn,  was  now 
opened,  with  the  result  that  a  confused  sound,  as  of 
several  people  speaking  at  once,  made  itself  heard. 
Suddenly  the  noise  gave  place  to  a  single  high-pitched 
voice :  — 

"  *  Welcome,  my  son !     Here  lay  him  down,  my  friends, 
Full  in  my  sight,  that  I  may  view  at  leisure 
The  bloody  corse,  and  count  those  glorious  wounds.'  " 

A  smile  irradiated  Mistress  Stagg's  faded  counte 
nance,  and  she  blew  a  kiss  toward  the  open  window. 
"  He  does  Cato  so  extremely  well ;  and  it 's  a  grave, 
dull,  odd  character,  too.  But  Mirabell  —  that  's 
Charles,  you  know  —  manages  to  put  a  little  life  in  it, 
aJene  sais  quoi,  a  touch  of  Sir  Harry  Wildair.  Now 
—  now  he 's  pulling  out  his  laced  handkerchief  to  weep 
over  Rome !  You  should  see  him  after  he  has  fallen 
on  his  sword,  and  is  brought  on  in  a  chair,  all  over 
blood.  This  is  the  third  rehearsal ;  the  play 's  ordered 
for  Monday  night.  Who  is  it,  Peggy  ?  Madam  Tra 
vis  !  It 's  about  the  lace  for  her  damask  petticoat, 
and  there  's  no  telling  how  long  she  may  keep  me ! 
My  dear  Deborah,  when  you  have  finished  your  wine, 
Peggy  shall  show  you  your  room.  You  must  make 
yourself  quite  at  home.  For  says  I  to  Mirabell  this 
morning,  '  Far  be  it  from  me  to  forget  past  kindnesses, 
and  in  those  old  Bath  days  Deborah  was  a  good  friend 
to  me,  —  which  was  no  wonder,  to  be  sure,  seeing  that 
when  we  were  little  girls  we  went  to  the  same  dame 


228  AUDREY 

school,  and  always  learned  our  book  and  worked  our 
samplers  together.'  And  says  Mirabell  —  Yes,  yes, 
ma'am,  I  'm  coming  !  " 

She  disappeared,  and  the  black  girl  showed  the  two 
guests  through  the  hall  and  up  a  tiny  stairway  into  a 
little  dormer-windowed,  whitewashed  room.  Mistress 
Deborah,  who  still  wore  remnants  of  my  Lady  Squan 
der's  ancient  gifts  of  spoiled  finery,  had  likewise  failed 
to  discard  the  second-hand  fine-lady  airs  acquired 
during  her  service.  She  now  declared  herself  exces 
sively  tired  by  her  morning  ride,  and  martyr,  besides, 
to  a  migraine.  Moreover,  it  was  enough  to  give  one  the 
spleen  to  hear  Mary  Stagg's  magpie  chatter  and  to  see 
how  some  folk  throve,  willy-nilly,  while  others  just  as 
good  —  Here  tears  of  vexation  ensued,  and  she  must 
lie  down  upon  the  bed  and  call  in  a  feeble  voice  for 
her  smelling  salts.  Audrey  hurriedly  searched  in  the 
ragged  portmanteau  brought  to  town  the  day  before 
in  the  ox-cart  of  an  obliging  parishioner,  found  the 
flask,  and  took  it  to  the  bedside,  to  receive  in  exchange 
a  sound  box  of  the  ear  for  her  tardiness.  The  blow 
reddened  her  cheek,  but  brought  no  tears  to  her  eyes. 
It  was  too  small  a  thing  to  weep  for ;  tears  were  for 
blows  upon  the  heart. 

It  was  a  cool  and  quiet  little  room,  and  Mistress 
Deborah,  who  had  drunk  two  full  glasses  of  the  Ma 
deira,  presently  fell  asleep.  Audrey  sat  very  still,  her 
hands  folded  in  her  lap  and  her  eyes  upon  them, 
until  their  hostess's  voice  announced  from  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  that  Madam  Travis  had  taken  her  de 
parture.  She  then  slipped  from  the  room,  and  was 
affably  received  below,  and  taken  into  the  apart 
ment  which  they  had  first  entered.  Here  Mistress 
Stagg  became  at  once  extremely  busy.  A  fan  was 


AUDREY  AND  EVELYN  229 

to  be  mounted;  yards  of  silk  gathered  into  furbe 
lows  ;  breast  knots,  shoulder  knots,  sword  knots,  to 
be  made  up.  Her  customers  were  all  people  of  qual 
ity,  and  unless  she  did  her  part  not  one  of  them  could 
go  to  the  ball.  Audrey  shyly  proffered  her  aid,  and 
was  set  to  changing  the  ribbons  upon  a  mask. 

Mistress  Stagg's  tongue  went  as  fast  as  her  needle  : 
"  And  Deborah  is  asleep !  Poor  soul !  she 's  sadly 
changed  from  what  she  was  in  old  England  thirteen 
years  ago.  As  neat  a  shape  as  you  would  see  in  a  day's 
journey,  with  the  prettiest  color,  and  eyes  as  bright 
as  those  marcasite  buttons !  And  she  saw  the  best  of 
company  at  my  Lady  Squander's,  —  no  lack  there  of 
kisses  and  guineas  and  fine  gentlemen,  you  may  be 
sure  !  There  's  a  deal  of  change  in  this  mortal  world, 
and  it 's  generally  for  the  worse.  Here,  child,  you 
may  whip  this  lace  on  Mr.  Lightfoot's  ruffles.  I  think 
myself  lucky,  I  can  tell  you,  that  there  are  so  few  wo 
men  in  Cato.  If  't  were  n't  so,  I  should  have  to  go  on 
myself ;  for  since  poor,  dear,  pretty  Jane  Day  died  of 
the  smallpox,  and  Oriana  Jordan  ran  away  with  the 
rascally  Bridewell  fellow  that  we  bought  to  play  hus 
bands'  parts,  and  was  never  heard  of  more,  but  is  sup 
posed  to  have  gotten  clean  off  to  Barbadoes  by  favor 
of  the  master  of  the  Lady  Susan,  we  have  been  short 
of  actresses.  But  in  this  play  there  are  only  Marcia 
and  Lucia.  'It  is  extremely  fortunate,  my  dear,' 
said  I  to  Mirabell  this  very  morning,  'that  in  this 
play,  which  is  the  proper  compliment  to  a  great  gen 
tleman  just  taking  office,  Mr.  Addison  should  have 
put  no  more  than  two  women.'  And  Mirabell  says  — 
Don't  put  the  lace  so  full,  child  ;  't  won't  go  round." 

"  A  chair  is  stopping  at  the  gate,"  said  Audrey,  who 
sat  by  the  window.  "  There 's  a  lady  in  it." 


230  AUDREY 

The  chair  was  a  very  fine  painted  one,  borne  by 
two  gayly  dressed  negroes,  and  escorted  by  a  trio 
of  beribboned  young  gentlemen,  prodigal  of  gallant 
speeches,  amorous  sighs,  and  languishing  glances. 
Mistress  Stagg  looked,  started  up,  and,  without  wait 
ing  to  raise  from  the  floor  the  armful  of  delicate  silk 
which  she  had  dropped,  was  presently  curtsying  upon 
the  doorstep. 

The  bearers  set  down  their  load.  One  of  the  gen 
tlemen  opened  the  chair  door  with  a  flourish,  and  the 
divinity,  compressing  her  hoop,  descended.  A  second 
cavalier  flung  back  Mistress  Stagg's  gate,  and  the  third, 
with  a  low  bow,  proffered  his  hand  to  conduct  the  fair 
from  the  gate  to  the  doorstep.  The  lady  shook  her 
head ;  a  smiling  word  or  two,  a  slight  curtsy,  the  wave 
of  a  painted  fan,  and  her  attendants  found  themselves 
dismissed.  She  came  up  the  path  alone,  slowly,  with 
her  head  a  little  bent.  Audrey,  watching  her  from 
the  window,  knew  who  she  was,  and  her  heart  beat 
fast.  If  this  lady  were  in  town,  then  so  was  he ;  he 
would  not  have  stayed  behind  at  Westover.  She 
would  have  left  the  room,  but  there  was  not  time. 
The  mistress  of  the  house,  smiling  and  obsequious, 
fluttered  in,  and  Evelyn  Byrd  followed. 

There  had  been  ordered  for  her  a  hood  of  golden 
tissue,  with  wide  and  long  streamers  to  be  tied  beneath 
the  chin,  and  she  was  come  to  try  it  on.  Mistress  Stagg 
had  it  all  but  ready,  —  there  was  only  the  least  bit  of 
stitchery ;  would  Mistress  Evelyn  condescend  to  wait 
a  very  few  minutes  ?  She  placed  a  chair,  and  the 
lady  sank  into  it,  finding  the  quiet  of  the  shadowed 
room  pleasant  enough  after  the  sunlight  and  talkative 
ness  of  the  world  without.  Mistress  Stagg,  in  her 
r61e  of  milliner,  took  the  gauzy  trifle,  called  by  cour- 


AUDREY  AND  EVELYN  231 

tesy  a  hood,  to  the  farthest  window,  and  fell  busily  to 
work. 

It  seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  quiet  in  the  room : 
the  shadow  of  the  leaves  lay  still  upon  the  floor  ;  the 
drowsy  humming  of  the  bees  outside  the  windows,  the 
sound  of  locusts  in  the  trees,  the  distant  noises  of 
the  town,  —  all  grew  more  remote,  then  suddenly  ap 
peared  to  cease. 

Audrey  raised  her  eyes,  and  met  the  eyes  of  Evelyn. 
She  knew  that  they  had  been  upon  her  for  a  long 
time,  in  the  quiet  of  the  room.  She  had  sat  breath 
less,  her  head  bowed  over  her  work  that  lay  idly  in 
her  lap,  but  at  last  she  must  look.  The  two  gazed  at 
each  other  with  a  sorrowful  steadfastness ;  in  the 
largeness  of  their  several  natures  there  was  no  room 
for  self-consciousness ;  ifc  was  the  soul  of  each  that 
gazed.  But  in  the  mists  of  earthly  ignorance  they 
could  not  read  what  was  written,  and  they  erred  in 
their  guessing.  Audrey  went  not  far  wide.  This 
was  the  princess,  and,  out  of  the  fullness  of  a  heart 
that  ached  with  loss,  she  could  have  knelt  and  kissed 
the  hem  of  her  robe,  and  wished  her  long  and  happy 
life.  There  was  no  bitterness  in  her  heart ;  she  never 
dreamed  that  she  had  wronged  the  princess.  But 
Evelyn  thought :  "  This  is  the  girl  they  talk  about. 
God  knows,  if  he  had  loved  worthily,  I  might  not  so 
much  have  minded !  " 

From  the  garden  came  a  burst  of  laughter  and  high 
voices.  Mistress  Stagg  started  up.  "  'T  is  our  peo 
ple,  Mistress  Evelyn,  coming  from  the  playhouse. 
We  lodge  them  in  the  house  by  the  bowling  green, 
but  after  rehearsals  they  're  apt  to  stop  here.  1  '11 
send  them  packing.  The  hood  is  finished.  Audrey 
will  set  ifc  upon  your  head,  ma'am,  while  I  am  gone. 


232  AUDREY 

Here,  child !  Mind  you  don't  crush  it."  She  gave 
the  hood  into  Audrey's  hands,  and  hurried  from  the 
room. 

Evelyn  sat  motionless,  her  silken  draperies  flowing 
around  her,  one  white  arm  bent,  the  soft  curve  of  her 
cheek  resting  upon  ringed  fingers.  Her  eyes  yet 
dwelt  upon  Audrey,  standing  as  motionless,  the  mist 
of  gauze  and  lace  in  her  hands.  "Do  not  trouble 
yourself,"  she  said,  in  her  low,  clear  voice.  "  I  will 
wait  until  Mistress  Stagg  returns." 

The  tone  was  very  cold,  but  Audrey  scarce  noticed 
that  it  was  so.  "  If  I  may,  I  should  like  to  serve  you, 
ma'am,"  she  said  pleadingly.  "  1  will  be  very  care 
ful." 

Leaving  the  window,  she  came  and  knelt  beside 
Evelyn ;  but  when  she  would  have  put  the  golden 
hood  upon  her  head,  the  other  drew  back  with  a  ges 
ture  of  aversion,  a  quick  recoil  of  her  entire  frame. 
The  hood  slipped  to  the  floor.  After  a  moment  Audrey 
rose  and  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two.  Neither  spoke, 
but  it  was  the  one  who  thought  no  evil  whose  eyes 
first  sought  the  floor.  Her  dark  cheek  paled,  and  her 
lips  trembled  ;  she  turned,  and  going  back  to  her  seat 
by  the  window  took  up  her  fallen  work.  Evelyn, 
with  a  sharp  catch  of  her  breath,  withdrew  her  atten 
tion  from  the  other  occupant  of  the  room,  and  fixed  it 
upon  a  moted  sunbeam  lying  like  a  bar  between  the 
two. 

Mistress  Stagg  returned.  The  hood  was  fitted,  and 
its  purchaser  prepared  to  leave.  Audrey  rose  and 
made  her  curtsy,  timidly,  but  with  a  quick,  appealing 
motion  of  her  hand.  Was  not  this  the  lady  whom  he 
loved,  that  people  said  he  was  to  wed?  And  had  he 
not  told  her,  long  ago,  that  he  would  speak  of  her  to 


AUDREY  AND  EVELYN  233 

Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd,  and  that  she  too  would  be  her 
friend?  Last  May  Day,  when  the  guinea  was  put 
into  her  hand,  the  lady's  smile  was  bright,  her  voice 
sweet  and  friendly.  Now,  how  changed !  In  her 
craving  for  a  word,  a  look,  from  one  so  near  him,  one 
that  perhaps  had  seen  him  not  an  hour  before  ;  in  her 
sad  homage  for  the  object  of  his  love,  she  forgot  her 
late  repulse,  and  grew  bold.  When  Evelyn  would 
have  passed  her,  she  put  forth  a  trembling  hand  and 
began  to  speak,  to  say  she  scarce  knew  what ;  but  the 
words  died  in  her  throat.  For  a  moment  Evelyn 
stood,  her  head  averted,  an  angry  red  staining  neck 
and  bosom  and  beautiful,  down-bent  face.  Her  eyes 
half  closed,  the  long  lashes  quivering  against  her 
cheek,  and  she  smiled  faintly,  in  scorn  of  the  girl 
and  scorn  of  herself.  Then,  freeing  her  skirt  from 
Audrey's  clasp,  she  passed  in  silence  from  the  room. 

Audrey  stood  at  the  window,  and  with  wide,  pained 
eyes  watched  her  go  down  the  path.  Mistress  Stagg 
was  with  her,  talking  volubly,  and  Evelyn  seemed  to 
listen  with  smiling  patience.  One  of  the  bedizened 
negroes  opened  the  chair  door ;  the  lady  entered,  and 
was  borne  away.  Before  Mistress  Stagg  could  re- 
enter  her  house  Audrey  had  gone  quietly  up  the  wind 
ing  stair  to  the  little  whitewashed  room,  where  she 
found  the  minister's  wife  astir  and  restored  to  good 
humor.  Her  sleep  had  helped  her ;  she  would  go 
down  at  once  and  see  what  Mary  was  at.  Darden, 
too,  was  coming  as  soon  as  the  meeting  at  the  church 
had  adjourned.  After  dinner  they  would  walk  out 
and  see  the  town,  until  which  time  Audrey  might  do 
as  she  pleased.  When  she  was  gone,  Audrey  softly 
shut  herself  in  the  little  room,  and  lay  down  upon  the 
bed,  very  still,  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  arm. 


234  AUDREY 

With  twelve  of  the  clock  came  Darden,  quite  sober, 
distrait  in  manner  and  uneasy  of  eye,  and  presently 
interrupted  Mistress  Stage's  flow  of  consrersation  by 
a  demand  to  speak  with  his  wife  alone.  At  that  time 
of  day  the  garden  was  a  solitude,  and  thither  the  two 
repaired,  taking  their  seats  upon  a  bench  built  round 
a  mulberry-tree. 

"  Well?  "  queried  Mistress  Deborah  bitterly.  "I 
suppose  Mr.  Commissary  showed  himself  vastly  civil? 
I  dare  say  you  're  to  preach  before  the  Governor  next 
Sunday  ?  Or  maybe  they  've  chosen  Bailey  ?  He 
boasts  that  he  can  drink  you  under  the  table  !  One 
of  these  fine  days  you  '11  drink  and  curse  and  game 
yourself  out  of  a  parish  !  " 

Darden  drew  figures  on  the  ground  with  his  heavy 
stick.  "  On  such  a  fine  day  as  this,"  he  said,  in  a 
suppressed  voice,  and  looked  askance  at  the  wife 
T?hom  he  beat  upon  occasion,  but  whose  counsel  he 
held  in  respect. 

She  turned  upon  him.  "  What  do  you  mean  ? 
They  talk  and  talk,  and  cry  shame,  —  and  a  shame  it 
is,  the  Lord  knows!  But  it  never  comes  to  any 
thing  "  — 

"  It  has  come  to  this,"  interrupted  Darden,  with  an 
oath :  "  that  this  Governor  means  to  sweep  in  the 
corners  ;  that  t lie  Commissary  —  damned  Scot !  —  to 
day  appointed  a  committee  to  inquire  into  the  charges 
made  against  me  and  Bailey  and  John  Worden  ;  that 
seven  o£  my  vestrymen  are  dead  against  me ;  and 
that  4  deprivation  '  has  suddenly  become  a  very  com 
mon  word ! " 

"  Seven  of  the  vestry  ?  "  said  his  wife,  after  a  pause. 
"Who  are  they?" 

Darden  told  her. 


AUDREY  AND  EVELYN  235 

"  If  Mr.  Haward  "  —  she  began  slowly,  her  green 
eyes  steady  upon  the  situation.  "  There 's  not  one  of 
that  seven  would  care  to  disoblige  him.  I  warrant 
you  he  could  make  them  face  about.  They  say  he 
knew  the  Governor  in  England,  too ;  and  there  's  his 
late  gift  to  the  college,  —  the  Commissary  would  n't 
forget  that.  If  Mr.  Haward  would  "  —  She  broke  off, 
and  with  knit  brows  studied  the  problem  more  intently. 

"  If  he  would,  he  could,"  Darden  finished  for  her. 
"  With  his  interest  this  cloud  would  go  by,  as  others 
have  done  before.  I  know  that,  Deborah.  And  that 's 
the  card  I  *rn  going  to  play." 

"  If  you  had  gone  to  him,  hat  in  hand,  a  month 
ago,  he  'd  have  done  you  any  favor,"  said  his  helpmate 
sourly.  "  But  it  is  different  now.  He  's  over  his 
fancy ;  and  besides,  he  's  at  Westover." 

"  He  's  in  Williamsburgh,  at  Marot's  ordinary," 
said  the  other.  "  As  for  his  being  over  his  fancy,  — 
I  '11  try  that.  Fancy  or  no  fancy,  if  a  woman  asked 
him  for  a  fairing,  he  would  give  it  her,  or  I  don't 
know  my  gentleman.  We  '11  call  his  interest  a  ribbon 
or  some  such  toy,  and  Audrey  shall  ask  him  for  it." 

"  Audrey  is  a  fool !  "  cried  Mistress  Deborah.  "  And 
you  had  best  be  careful,  or  you  '11  prove  yourself  an 
other  !  There  's  been  talk  enough  already.  Audrey, 
village  innocent  that  she  is,  is  the  only  one  that 
doesn't  know  it.  The  town's  not  the  country;  if  he 
sets  tongues  a-clacking  here  "  — 

"  He  won't,"  said  Darden  roughly.  "  He  *s  no 
hare-brained  one-and-twenty !  And  Audrey  's  a  good 
girl.  Go  send  her  here,  Deborah.  Bid  her  fetch  me 
Stagg's  inkhorn  and  a  pen  and  a  sheet  of  paper.  If 
he  does  anything  for  me,  it  will  have  to  be  done 
quickly.  They  're  in  haste  to  pull  me  out  of  saddle, 


236  AUDREY 

the  damned  canting  pack !     Bat  I  '11  try  conclusions 
with  them ! " 

His  wife  departed,  muttering  to  herself,  and  the 
reverend  Gideon  pulled  out  of  his  capacious  pocket  a 
flask  of  usquebaugh.  In  five  minutes  from  the  time 
of  his  setting  it  to  his  lips  the  light  in  which  he  viewed 
the  situation  turned  from  gray  to  rose  color.  By  the 
time  he  espied  Audrey  coming  toward  him  through 
the  garden  he  felt  a  moral  certainty  that  when  he  came 
to  die  (if  ever  he  died)  it  would  be  in  his  bed  in  the 
Fair  View  glebe  house. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

WITHIN  THE  PLAYHOUSE 

HAWARD,  sitting  at  the  table  in  Marot's  best  room, 
wrote  an  answer  to  Audrey's  letter,  and  tore  it  up ; 
wrote  another,  and  gave  ifc  to  Juba,  to  be  given  to  the 
messenger  waiting  below;  recalled  the  negro  before 
he  could  reach  the  cloor,  destroyed  the  second  note, 
and  wrote  a  third.  The  first  had  been  wise  and  kind, 
telling  her  that  he  was  much  engaged,  lightly  and 
skillfully  waving  aside  her  request  —  the  only  one  she 
made  —  that  she  might  see  him  that  day.  The  second 
had  been  less  wise.  The  last  told  her  that  he  would 
come  at  five  o'clock  to  the  summer-house  in  Mistress 
Stagg's  garden. 

When  he  was  alone  in  the  room,  he  sat  for  some 
time  very  still,  with  his  eyes  closed  and  his  head  thrown 
back  against  the  tall  woodwork  of  his  chair.  His  face 
was  stern  in  repose:  a  handsome,  even  a  fine  face, 
with  a  look  of  power  and  reflection,  but  to-day  some 
what  worn  and  haggard  of  aspect.  When  presently 
he  roused  himself  and  took  up  the  letter  that  lay  be 
fore  him,  the  paper  shook  in  his  hand.  "  Wine, 
Juba,''  he  said  to  the  slave,  who  now  reentered  the 
room.  "And  close  the  window;  it  is  growing  cold." 

There  were  but  three  lines  between  the  "  Mr.  Ha- 
ward "  and  "  Audrey ; "  the  writing  was  stiff  and 
clerkly,  the  words  very  simple,  —  a  child's  asking  of  a 


238  AUDREY 

favor.  He  guessed  rightly  that  it  was  the  first  letter 
of  her  own  that  she  had  ever  written.  Suddenly  a 
wave  of  passionate  tenderness  took  him  ;  lis  bowed  hia 
head  and  kissed  the  paper;  for  the  moment  many- 
threaded  life  and  his  own  complex  nature  alike  straight 
ened  to  a  beautiful  simplicity.  He  was  the  lover, 
merely ;  life  was  but  the  light  and  shadow  through 
which  moved  the  woman  whom  he  loved.  He  came 
back  to  himself,  and  tried  to  think  it  out,  but  could 
not.  Finally,  with  a  weary  impatience,  he  declined  to 
think  at  all.  He  was  to  dine  at  the  Governor's. 
Evelyn  would  be  there. 

Only  momentarily,  in  those  days  of  early  summer, 
had  he  wavered  in  his  determination  to  make  this  lady 
his  wife.  Pride  was  at  the  root  of  his  being,  —  pride 
and  a  deep  self-will ;  though  because  they  were  so 
sunken,  and  because  poisonous  roots  can  flower  most 
deceivingly,  he  neither  called  himself  nor  was  called 
of  others  a  proud  and  willful  man.  He  wished  Evelyn 
for  his  wife  ;  nay,  more.,  though  on  May  Day  he  had 
shown  her  that  he  loved  her  not,  though  in  June  he 
had  offered  her  a  love  that  was  only  admiring  affec 
tion,  yet  in  the  past  month  at  Westover  he  had  come 
almost  to  believe  that  he  loved  her  truly.  That  she 
was  worthy  of  true  love  he  knew  very  well.  With  all 
his  strength  of  will,  he  had  elected  to  forget  the  sum 
mer  that  lay  behind  him  at  Fair  View,  and  to  live  in 
the  summer  that  was  with  him  at  Westover.  His  suc 
cess  had  been  gratifying ;  in  the  flush  of  it,  he  per 
suaded  himself  that  a  chamber  of  the  heart  had  been 
locked  forever,  and  the  key  thrown  away.  And  lo 
now !  a  touch,  the  sudden  sight  of  a  name,  and  the 
door  had  flown  wide ;  nay,  the  very  walls  were  rived 
away  I  It  was  not  a  glance  over  the  shoulder ;  it  was 
full  presence  in  the  room  so  lately  sealed. 


WITHIN  THE  PLAYHOUSE  239 

He  knew  that  Evelyn  loved  him.  It  was  under 
stood  of  all  their  acquaintance  that  he  was  her  suitor ; 
months  ago  he  had  formally  craved  her  father's  per 
mission  to  pay  his  addresses.  There  were  times  in 
those  weeks  at  Westover  when  she  had  come  nigh  to 
yielding,  to  believing  that  he  loved  her ;  he  was  cer 
tain  that  with  time  he  would  have  his  way.  .  .  .  But 
the  room,  the  closed  room,  in  which  now  he  sat! 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  was  suddenly 
back  in  spirit  in  his  garden  at  Fair  View.  The  cher 
ries  were  ripe ;  the  birds  were  singing;  great  butterflies 
went  by.  The  sunshine  beat  on  the  dial,  on  the  walks, 
and  the  smell  of  the  roses  was  strong  as  wine.  His 
senses  swam  with  the  warmth  and  fragrance;  the  gar 
den  enlarged  itself,  and  blazed  in  beauty.  Never  was 
sunshine  so  golden  as  that ;  never  were  roses  so  large, 
never  odors  so  potent-sweet.  A  spirit  walked  in  the 
garden  paths :  its  name  was  Audrey.  .  .  .  No,  it  was 
speaking,  speaking  words  of  passion  and  of  woe.  .  .  . 
Its  name  was  Eloisa ! 

When  he  rose  from  his  chair,  he  staggered  slightly, 
and  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  Recovering  himself  in 
a  moment,  he  called  for  his  hat  and  cane,  and,  leaving 
the  ordinary,  turned  his  face  toward  the  Palace.  A 
garrulous  fellow  Councilor,  also  bidden  to  his  Excel 
lency's  dinner  party,  overtook  him,  and,  falling  into 
step,  began  to  speak  first  of  the  pirates'  trial,  and  then 
of  the  weather.  A  hot  and  feverish  summer.  'T  was 
said  that  a  good  third  of  the  servants  arriving  in  the 
country  since  spring  had  died  of  their  seasoning.  The 
slaver  lying  in  the  York  had  thrown  thirty  blacks 
overboard  in  the  ran  from  Barbadoes,  —  some  strange 
sickness  or  other.  Adsbud !  He  would  not  buy  from 
the  lot  the  master  landed ;  had  they  been  white,  they 


240  AUDREY 

had  showed  like  spectres  !  September  was  the  worst 
month  of  the  year.  He  did  not  find  Mr.  Haward  in 
looks  now.  Best  consult  Dr.  Contesse,  though  indeed 
he  himself  had  a  preventive  of  fever  which  never  failed* 
First  he  bled ;  then  to  so  much  of  Peruvian  bark  — 

Mr.  Haward  declared  that   he  was  very  well,  and 
turned  the  conversation  piratewards  again. 

The  dinner  at  the  Palace  was  somewhat  hurried,  the 
gentlemen  rising  with  the  ladies,  despite  the  entice 
ments  of  Burgundy  and  champagne.  It  was  the  after 
noon  set  apart  for  the  Indian  dance.  The  bonfire  in 
the  field  behind  the  magazine  had  been  kindled ;  the 
Nottoways  and  Meherrins  were  waiting,  still  as  statues, 
for  the  gathering  of  their  audience.  Before  the  dance 
the  great  white  father  was  to  speak  to  them ;  the  peace 
pipe,  also,  was  to  be  smoked.  The  town,  gay  of  mood 
and  snatching  at  enjoyment,  emptied  its  people  into 
the  sunny  field.  Only  they  who  could  not  go  stayed 
at  home.  Those  light-hearted  folk,  ministers  to  a  play- 
loving  age,  who  dwelt  in  the  house  by  the  bowling 
green  or  in  the  shadow  of  the  theatre  itself,  must  go, 
at  all  rates.  Marcia  and  Lucia,  Syphax,  Sempronius, 
and  the  African  prince  made  off  together,  while  the 
sons  of  Cato,  who  chanced  to  be  twin  brothers,  fol 
lowed  with  a  slower  step.  Their  indentures  would  ex 
pire  next  month,  and  they  had  thoughts,  the  one  of 
becoming  an  overseer,  the  other  of  moving  up  country 
and  joining  a  company  of  rangers:  hence  their  some 
what  haughty  bearing  toward  their  fellow  players, 
who  —  except  old  Syphax,  who  acted  for  the  love  of 
it  —  had  not  even  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  free 
dom. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stagg  saw  their  minions  depart,  and 
then  themselves  left  the  little  white  house  in  Palace 


WITHIN  THE  PLAYHOUSE  241 

Street.  Mistress  Deborah  was  with  them,  but  not 
Audrey.  "  She  can't  abide  the  sight  of  an  Indian," 
said  the  minister's  wife  indifferently.  "  Besides,  Dar- 
den  will  be  here  from  the  church  presently,  and  he 
may  want  her  to  write  for  him.  She  and  Peggy  can 
mind  the  house." 

The  Capitol  clock  was  telling  five  when  Haward 
entered  the  garden  by  the  Nicholson  Street  gate. 
There  had  arisen  a  zephyr  of  the  evening,  to  loosen 
the  yellow  locust  leaves  and  send  them  down  upon  the 
path,  to  lay  cool  fingers  upon  his  forehead  that  burned, 
and  to  whisper  low  at  his  ear.  House  and  garden  and 
silent  street  seemed  asleep  in  the  late  sunshine,  safe 
folded  from  the  storm  of  so?ind  that  raged  in  the  field 
on  the  border  of.  the  town.  Distance  muffled  the  In 
dian  drums,  and  changed  the  scream  of  the  pipes  into 
a  far-off  wailing.  Savage  cries,  bursts  of  applause  and 
laughter,  —  all  came  softly,  blent  like  the  hum  of  the 
bees,  mellow  like  the  sunlight.  There  was  no  one  in 
the  summer-house.  Haward  walked  on  to  the  grape 
arbor,  and  found  there  a  black  girl,  who  pointed  to  an 
open  door,  pertaining  not  to  the  small  white  house,  but 
to  that  portion  of  the  theatre  which  abutted  upon  the 
garden.  Haward,  passing  a  window  of  Mr.  Stagg's 
domicile,  was  aware  of  Darden  sitting  within,  much 
engaged  with  a  great  book  and  a  tankard  of  sack.  He 
made  no  pause  for  the  vision,  and  another  moment 
found  him  within  the  playhouse. 

The  sunlight  entered  in  at  the  door  and  at  one  high 
window,  but  yet  the  place  was  dim.  The  gallery  and 
the  rude  boxes  were  all  in  shadow ;  the  sunbeams  from 
the  door  struck  into  the  pit,  while  those  from  the  high 
window  let  fall  a  shaft  of  misty  light  upon  the  stage 
itself,  set  for  a  hall  in  Utica,  with  fi  ye  cane  chairs,  an 


242  AUDREY 

ancient  settle,  and  a  Spanish  table.  On  the  settle,  in 
the  pale  gold  of  the  falling  light,  sat  Audrey,  her  hands 
clasped  over  her  knees,  her  head  thrown  back,  and  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  shadowy,  chill,  and  soundless  space 
before  her.  Upon  Haward's  speaking  her  name  she 
sighed,  and,  loosing  her  hands,  turned  toward  him. 
He  came  and  leaned  upon  the  back  of  the  settle. 
"You  sent  for  me,  Audrey,"  he  said,  and  laid  his 
hand  lightly  upon  her  hair. 

She  shrank  from  his  touch.  "  The  minister  made 
me  write  the  letter,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  did 
not  wish  to  trouble  you,  sir." 

Upon  her  wrist  were  dark  marks.  "  Did  Darden 
do  that?"  demanded  Ha  ward,  as  he  took  his  seat 
beside  her. 

Audrey  looked  at  the  bruise  indifferently ;  then  with 
her  other  hand  covered  it  from  sight.  "  I  have  a  favor 
to  ask  of  Mr.  Haward,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  that  after 
his  many  kindnesses  he  will  not  refuse  to  do  me  this 
greatest  one.  If  he  should  grant  my  request,  the  grati 
tude  which  I  must  needs  already  feel  toward  him  will 
be  increased  tenfold."  The  words  came  precisely,  in 
an  even  voice. 

Haward  smiled.  "Child,  you  have  conned  your 
lesson  well.  Leave  the  words  of  the  book,  and  tell 
me  in  your  own  language  what  his  reverence  wants." 

Audrey  told  him,  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was 
not  listening.  When  she  had  come  to  an  end  of  the 
minister's  grievances,  she  sat,  with  downcast  eyes, 
waiting  for  him  to  speak,  wishing  that  he  would  not 
look  at  her  so  steadily.  She  meant  never  to  show  him 
her  heart,  —  never,  never  ;  but  beneath  his  gaze  it  was 
hard  to  keep  her  cheek  from  burning,  her  lip  from 
quivering. 


WITHIN  THE  PLAYHOUSE  243 

At  last  lie  spoke :  "  Would  it  please  you,  Audrey, 
if  I  should  save  this  man  from  his  just  deserts  ?  " 

Audrey  raised  her  eyes.  "  He  and  Mistress  Debo 
rah  are  all  my  friends,"  she  said.  "  The  glebe  house 
is  my  home." 

Deep  sadness  spoke  in  voice  and  eye.  The  shaft  of 
light,  moving,  had  left  her  in  the  outer  shadow :  she 
sat  there  with  a  listless  grace ;  with  a  dignity,  too,  that 
was  not  without  pathos.  There  had  been  a  forlorn 
child ;  there  had  been  an  unfriended  girl :  there  was 
now  a  woman,  for  Life  to  fondle  or  to  wreak  its  rage 
upon.  The  change  was  subtle  ;  one  more  a  lover  or 
less  a  lover  than  Ha  ward  might  not  have  noted  it. 
"I  will  petition  the  Commissary  to-night,"  he  said, 
"  the  Governor  to-morrow.  Is  your  having  in  friends 
so  slight  as  you  say,  little  maid  ?  " 

Oh,  he  could  reach  to  the  quick!  She  was  sure 
that  he  had  not  meant  to  accuse  her  of  ingratitude, 
and  pitifully  sure  that  she  must  have  seemed  guilty  of 
it.  "  No,  no !  "  she  cried.  "  1  have  had  a  friend  "  — 
Her  voice  broke,  and  she  started  to  her  feet,  her  face 
to  the  door,  all  her  being  quiveringly  eager  to  be  gone. 
She  had  asked  that  which  she  was  bidden  to  ask,  had 
gained  that  which  she  was  bidden  to  gain ;  for  the 
rest,  it  was  far  better  that  she  should  go.  Better  far 
for  him  to  think  her  dull  and  thankless  as  a  stone 
than  see  —  than  see  — 

When  Haward  caught  her  by  the  hand,  she  trem 
bled  and  drew  a  sobbing  breath.  " 4 1  have  had  a 
friend,'  Audrey  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Why  not  4 1  have  a 
friend'?" 

"Why  not?"  thought  Audrey.  "Of  course  he 
would  think,  why  not  ?  Well,  then  "  — 

"  I  have  a  friend,"  she  said  aloud.     "  Have  you  not 


244  AUDREY 

been  to  me  the  kindest  friend,  the  most  generous  "  • 

She  faltered,  but  presently  went  on,  a  strange  courage 
coming  to  her.  She  had  turned  slightly  toward  him, 
though  she  looked  not  at  him,  but  upward  to  where 
the  light  streamed  through  the  high  window.  It  fell 
now  upon  her  face.  "  It  is  a  great  thing  to  save  life,'* 
she  said.  "  To  save  a  soul  alive,  how  much  greater ! 
To  have  kept  one  soul  in  the  knowledge  that  there  is 
goodness,  mercy,  tenderness,  God;  to  have  given  it 
bread  to  eat  where  it  sat  among  the  stones,  water  to 
drink  where  all  the  streams  were  dry,  —  oh,  a  king 
might  be  proud  of  that !  And  that  is  what  you  have 
done  for  me.  .  .  .  When  you  sailed  away,  so  many 
years  ago,  and  left  me  with  the  minister  and  his  wife, 
they  were  not  always  kind.  But  I  knew  that  you 
thought  them  so,  and  I  always  said  to  myself, '  If  he 
knew,  he  would  be  sorry  for  me.'  At  last  I  said, '  He 
is  sorry  for  me ;  there  is  the  sea,  and  he  cannot  come, 
but  he  knows,  and  is  sorry.'  It  was  make-believe, — 
for  you  thought  that  I  was  happy,  did  you  not  ?  —  but 
it  helped  me  very  much.  I  was  only  a  child,  you  know, 
and  I  was  so  very  lonely.  I  could  not  think  of  mother 
and  Molly,  for  when  I  did  I  saw  them  as  —  as  I  had 
seen  them  last.  The  dark  scared  me,  until  I  found 
that  I  could  pretend  that  you  were  holding  my  hand, 
as  you  used  to  do  when  night  came  in  the  valley. 
After  a  while  I  had  only  to  put  out  my  hand,  and 
yours  was  there  waiting  for  it.  I  hope  that  you  can 
understand  —  I  want  you  to  know  how  large  is  my 
debt.  ...  As  I  grew,  so  did  the  debt.  When  I  was 
a  girl  it  was  larger  than  when  I  was  a  child.  Do  you 
know  with  whom  I  have  lived  all  these  years  ?  There 
is  the  minister,  who  comes  reeling  home  from  the 
crossroads  ordinary,  who  swears  over  the  dice,  who 


WITHIN  THE  PLAYHOUSE  245 

teaches  cunning  that  he  calls  wisdom,  laughs  at  man 
and  scarce  believes  in  God.  His  hand  is  heavy ;  this 
is  his  mark."  She  held  up  her  bruised  wrist  to  the 
light,  then  let  the  hand  drop.  When  she  spoke  of  the 
minister,  she  made  a  gesture  toward  the  shadows  grow 
ing  ever  thicker  and  darker  in  the  body  of  the  house. 
It  was  as  though  she  saw  him  there,  and  was  pointing 
him  out.  "  There  is  the  minister's  wife,"  she  said,  and 
the  motion  of  her  hand  again  accused  the  shadows. 
"  Oh,  their  roof  has  sheltered  me ;  I  have  eaten  of 
their  bread.  But  truth  is  truth.  There  is  the  school 
master  with  the  branded  hands.  He  taught  me,  you 
know.  There  is  "  —  she  was  looking  with  wide  eyes 
into  the  deepest  of  the  shadows  —  "  there  is  Hugon  I " 
Her  voice  died  away.  Haward  did  not  move  or 
speak,  and  for  a  minute  there  was  silence  in  the  dusky 
playhouse.  Audrey  broke  it  with  a  laugh,  soft,  light, 
and  clear,  that  came  oddly  upon  the  mood  of  the  hour. 
Presently  she  was  speaking  again  :  "  Do  you  think  it 
strange  that  I  should  laugh  ?  I  laughed  to  think  I 
have  escaped  them  ail.  Do  you  know  that  they  call 
me  a  dreamer  ?  Once,  deep  in  the  woods,  I  met  the 
witch  who  lives  at  the  head  of  the  creek.  She  fcold 
me  that  I  was  a  dream  child,  and  that  all  my  life  was 
a  dream,  and  I  must  pray  never  to  awake ;  but  I  do 
not  think  she  knew,  for  all  that  she  is  a  witch.  They 
none  of  them  know,  —  none,  none !  If  I  had  not 
dreamed,  as  they  call  it,  —  if  I  had  watched,  and  lis 
tened,  and  laid  to  heart,  and  become  like  them,  —  oh, 
then  I  should  have  died  of  your  look  when  at  last  you 
came  !  But  I '  dreamed  ; '  and  in  that  long  dream  you, 
though  you  were  overseas,  you  showed  me,  little  by 
little,  that  the  spirit  is  not  bond,  but  free,  —  that  it 
can  walk  the  waves,  and  climb  to  the  sunset  and  the 


246  AUDREY 

stars.  And  I  found  that  the  woods  were  fair,  that 
the  earth  was  fair  and  kind  as  when  I  was  a  little 
child.  And  I  grew  to  love  and  long  for  goodness. 
And,  day  by  day,  1  have  had  a  life  and  a  world  where 
flowers  bloomed,  and  the  streams  ran  fresh,  and  there 
was  bread  indeed  to  eat.  And  it  was  you  that  showed 
me  the  road,  that  opened  for  me  the  gates !  " 

She  ceased  to  speak,  and,  turning  fully  toward  him, 
took  his  hand  and  put  it  to  her  lips.  "  May  you  be 
very  happy  !  "  she  said.  "  I  thank  you,  sir,  that  when 
you  came  at  last  you  did  not  break  my  dream.  The 
dream  fell  short  1 " 

The  smile  upon  her  face  was  very  sweet,  very  pure 
and  noble.  She  would  have  gone  without  another 
word,  but  Haward  caught  her  by  the  sleeve.  "  Stay 
awhile !  "  he  cried.  fct  I  too  am  a  dreamer,  though  not 
like  yon,  you  maid  of  Dian,  dark  saint,  cold  vestal, 
with  your  eyes  forever  on  the  still,  white  flame  I  Au 
drey,  Audrey,  Audrey  !  Do  you  know  what  a  pretty 
name  you  have,  child,  or  how  dark  are  your  eyes,  or 
how  fine  this  hair  that  a  queen  might  envy  ?  West- 
over  has  been  dull,  child." 

Audrey  shook  her  head  and  smiled,  and  thought 
that  he  was  laughing  at  her.  A  vision  of  Evelyn, 
as  Evelyn  had  looked  that  morning,  passed  before 
her.  She  did  not  believe  that  he  had  found  Westover 
dull. 

"  I  am  coming  to  Fair  View,  dark  Audrejr,"  he 
went  on.  "  In  its  garden  there  are  roses  yet  blooming 
for  thy  hair ;  there  are  sweet  verses  calling  to  be 
read  ;  there  are  cool,  sequestered  walks  to  be  trodden, 
with  thy  hand  in  mine,  —  thy  hand  in  mine,  little 
maid.  Life  is  but  once  ;  we  shall  never  pass  this  way 
again.  Driak  the  cup,  wear  the  roses,  live  the  verses  I 


WITHIN  THE  PLAYHOUSE  247 

Of  what  sing  all  the  sweetest  verses,  dark-eyed  witch, 
forest  Audrey?" 

"  Of  love,"  said  Audrey  simply.  She  had  freed 
her  hand  from  his  clasp,  and  her  face  was  troubled. 
She  did  not  understand  ;  never  had  she  seen  him  like 
this,  with  shining  eyes  and  hot,  unsteady  touch. 

"  There  is  the  ball  at  the  Palace  to-morrow  night," 
he  went  on.  "  I  must  be  there,  for  a  fair  lady  and  I 
are  to  dance  together."  He  smiled.  "  Poor  Audrey, 
who  hath  never  been  to  a  ball ;  who  only  dances  with 
the  elves,  beneath  the  moon,  around  a  beechen  tree  I 
The  next  day  1  will  go  to  Fair  View,  and  you  will  be 
at  the  glebe  house,  and  we  will  take  up  the  summer 
where  we  left  it,  that  weary  month  ago." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Audrey  hurriedly,  and  shook  her 
head.  A  vague  and  formless  trouble  had  laid  its  cold 
touch  upon  her  heart;  it  was  as  though  she  saw  a 
cloud  coming  up,  but  it  was  no  larger  than  a  man's 
hand,  and  she  knew  not  what  it  should  portend,  nor 
that  it  would  grow  into  a  storm.  He  was  strange  to 
day,  —  that  she  felt ;  but  then  all  her  day  since  the 
coming  of  Evelyn  had  been  sad  and  strange. 

The  shaft  of  sunshine  was  gone  from  the  stage,  and 
all  the  house  was  in  shadow.  Audrey  descended  the 
two  or  three  steps  leading  into  the  pit,  and  Haward 
followed  her.  Side  by  side,  they  left  the  playhouse, 
and  found  themselves  in  the  garden,  and  also  in  the 
presence  of  five  or  six  ladies  and  gentlemen,  seated 
upon  the  grass  beneath  a  mulberry4ree,  or  engaged 
in  rifling  the  grape  arbor  of  its  purple  fruit. 

The  garden  was  a  public  one,  and  this  gay  little 
party,  having  tired  of  the  Indian  spectacle,  had  re 
paired  hither  to  treat  of  its  own  affairs.  Moreover, 
it  had  been  there,  scattered  upon  the  grass  in  view  of 


248  AUDREY 

the  playhouse  door,  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour. 
Concerned  with  its  own  wit  and  laughter,  it  had 
caught  no  sound  of  low  voices  issuing  from  the  thea 
tre  ;  and  for  the  two  who  talked  within,  all  outward 
noise  had  ranked  as  coming  from  the  distant,  crowded 
fields. 

A  young  girl,  her  silken  apron  raised  to  catch  the 
clusters  which  a  gentleman,  mounted  upon  a  chair, 
threw  down,  gave  a  little  scream,,  and  let  fall  her  pur 
ple  hoard.  "  'Gad  !  "  cried  the  gentleman.  One  and 
another  exclaimed,  and  a  withered  beauty  seated  be 
neath  the  mulberry-tree  laughed  shrilly. 

A  moment,  an  effort,  a  sharp  recall  of  wandering 
thoughts,  and  Haward  had  the  situation  in  hand.  An 
easy  greeting  to  the  gentlemen,  debonair  compliments 
for  the  ladies,  a  question  or  two  as  to  the  entertain 
ment  they  had  left,  then  a  negligent  bringing  forward 
of  Audrey.  "  A  little  brown  ward  and  ancient  play 
mate  of  mine,  —  shot  up  in  the  night  to  be  as  tall  as 
a  woman.  Make  thy  curtsy,  child,  and  go  tell  the 
minister  what  I  have  said  on  the  subject  he  wots  of." 

Audrey  curtsied  and  went  away,  having  never  raised 
her  eyes  to  note  the  stare  of  curiosity,  the  suppressed 
smile,  the  glance  from  eye  to  eye,  which  had  trod  upon 
her  introduction  to  the  company.  Haward,  remaining 
with  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  gathered  grapes 
for  the  blooming  girl  and  the  withered  beauty,  and  for 
a  little,  smiling  woman  who  was  known  for  as  arrant 
a  scandalmonger  as  could  be  found  in  Virginia. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  QUESTION  OF  COLORS 

EVELYN,  seated  at  her  toilette  table,  and  in  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Timothy  Green,  hairdresser  in  ordinary 
to  Williamsburgh,  looked  with  unseeing  eyes  at  her 
own  fair  reflection  in  the  glass  before  her.  Chloe, 
the  black  handmaiden  who  stood  at  the  door,  latch  in 
hand,  had  time  to  grow  tired  of  waiting  before  her 
mistress  spoke.  "  You  may  tell  Mr.  Hawa,rd  that  I 
am  at  home,  Chloe.  Bring  him  here." 

The  hairdresser  drew  a  comb  through  the  rippling 
brown  tresses  and  commenced  his  most  elaborate  ar 
rangement,  working  with  pursed  lips,  and  head  bent 
now  to  this  side,  now  to  that.  He  had  been  a  hard- 
pressed  man  since  sunrise,  and  the  lighting  of  the 
Palace  candles  that  night  might  find  him  yet  employed 
by  some  belated  dame.  Evelyn  was  very  pale,  and 
shadows  were  beneath  her  eyes.  Moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  took  from  the  table  a  rouge  pot,  and  has 
tily  and  with  trembling  fingers  rubbed  bloom  into  her 
cheeks;  then  the  patch  box,  —  one,  two,  three  Tory 
partisans.  "  Now  I  am  less  like  a  ghost,"  she  said. 
"  Mr.  Green,  do  I  not  look  well  and  merry,  and  as 
though  my  sleep  had  been  sound  and  dreamless  ?  " 

In  his  high,  cracked  voice,  the  hairdresser  was  sure 
that,  pale  or  glowing,  grave  or  gay,  Mistress  Evelyn 
Byrd  would  be  the  toast  at  the  ball  that  night.  The 


250  AUDREY 

lady  laughed,  for  she  heard  Haward's  step  upon  the 
landing.  He  entered  to  the  gay,  tinkling  sound,  bent 
over  the  hand  she  extended,  then,  laying  aside  hat  and 
cane,  took  his  seat  beside  the  table. 

"  *  Fair  tresses  mail's  imperial  race  insnare, 
And  beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair,'  " 

he  quoted,  with  a  smile.  Then  :  "  Will  you  take  our 
hearts  in  blue  to-night,  Evelyn  ?  You  know  that  I 
love  you  best  in  blue/' 

She  lifted  her  fan  from  the  table,  and  waved  it 
lightly  to  and  fro.  "  I  go  in  rose  color,"  she  said. 
"  'T  is  the  gown  I  wore  at  Lady  Eich's  rout.  I  daro 
say  you  do  not  remember  it  ?  But  my  Lord  of  Peter 
borough  said  "  —  She  broke  off,  and  smiled  to  her 
fan. 

Her  voice  was  sweet  and  slightly  drawling.  The 
languid  tarn  of  the  wrist,  the  easy  grace  of  attitude, 
the  beauty  of  bared  neck  and  tinted  face,  of  lowered 
lids  and  slow,  faint  smile,  —  oh,  she  was  genuine  fine 
lady,  if  she  was  not  quite  Evelyn !  A  breeze  blowing 
through  the  open  windows  stirred  their  gay  hangings 
of  flowered  cotton :  the  black  girl  sat  in  a  corner  and 
sewed ;  the  supple  fingers  of  the  hairdresser  went  in 
arid  out  of  the  heavy  hair;  roses  in  a  deep  blue  bowl 
made  the  room  smell  like  a  garden.  liaward  sighed, 
so  pleasant  was  it  to  sit  quietly  in  this  cool  chamber, 
after  the  glare  and  wavering  of  the  world  without. 
"  My  Lord  of  Peterborough  is  magnificent  at  compli 
ments,"  he  said  kindly,  "  but  't  would  be  a  jeweled 
speech  indeed  that  outdid  your  deserving,  Evelyn. 
Come,  now,  wear  the  blue!  I  will  find  you  white 
roses ;  you  shall  wear  them  for  a  breast  knot,  and  in 
the  minuet  return  me  one  again." 

Evelyn  waved  her  fan.     "  I  dance  the  minuet  with 


A  QUESTION  OF  COLORS  251 

Mr.  Lee."  Her  tone  was  still  sweetly  languid,  her 
manner  most  indifferent.  The  thick  and  glossy  tress 
that,  drawn  forward,  was  to  ripple  over  white  neck 
and  bosom  was  too  loosely  curled.  She  regarded  it  in 
the  mirror  with  an  anxious  frown,  then  spoke  of  it  to 
the  hairdresser. 

Haward,  smiling,  watched  her  with  heavy-lidded 
eyes.  "  Mr.  Lee  is  a  fortunate  gentleman,"  he  said. 
"  I  may  gain  the  rose,  perhaps,  in  the  country  dance  ?  " 

"  That  is  better,"  remarked  the  lady,  surveying 
with  satisfaction  the  new-curled  lock.  "•  The  country 
dance  ?  For  that  Mr.  Lightfoot  hath  my  promise." 

"  It  seems  that  I  am  a  laggard,"  said  Haward. 

The  knocker  sounded  below.  "  I  am  at  home, 
Chloe,"  announced  the  mistress ;  and  the  slave,  laying 
aside  her  work,  slipped  from  the  room. 

Haward  played  with  the  trifles  upon  the  dressing 
table.  "Wherein  have  I  offended,  Evelyn?"  he 
asked,  at  last. 

The  lady  arched  her  brows,  and  the  action  made 
her  for  the  moment  very  like  her  handsome  father. 
"  Why,  there  is  no  offense !  "  she  cried.  "  An  old  ac 
quaintance,  a  family  friend !  I  step  a  minuet  with 
Mr.  Lee ;  I  stand  up  for  a  country  ciance  with  Mr. 
Lightfoot ;  I  wear  pink  instead  of  blue,  and  have  lost 
my  liking  for  white  roses,  —  what  is  there  in  all  this 
that  needs  such  a  question  ?  Ah,  you  have  broken 
my  silver  chain  !  " 

"  I  am  clumsy  to-day !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  A  thou 
sand  pardons !  "  He  let  the  broken  toy  slip  from  his 
fingers  to  the  polished  surface  of  the  table,  and  forgot 
that  it  was  there.  "  Since  Colonel  Byrd  (I  am  sorry 
to  learn)  keeps  his  room  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  may  I 
—  an  old  acquaintance,  a  family  friend  — conduct  you 
to  the  Palace  to-night  ?  " 


262  AUDREY 

The  fan  waved  on.  "  Thank  you,  but  I  go  in  our 
coach,  and  need  no  escort."  The  lady  yawned,  very 
delicately,  behind  her  slender  fingers ;  then  dropped 
the  fan,  and  spoke  with  animation  :  "  Ah,  here  is  Mr. 
Lee  I  In  a  good  hour,  sir  !  I  saw  the  bracelet  that 
you  mended  for  Mistress  Winston.  Canst  do  as  much 
for  my  poor  chain  here  ?  See  !  it  and  this  silver  heart 
have  parted  company." 

Mr.  Lee  kissed  her  hand,  and  took  snuff  with  Mr. 
Haward ;  then,  after  an  ardent  speech  crammed  with 
references  to  Vulcan  and  Venus,  chains  that  were  not 
slight,  hearts  that  were  of  softer  substance,  sat  down 
beside  this  kind  and  dazzling  vision,  and  applied  his 
clever  fingers  to  the  problem  in  hand.  He  was  a  per 
sonable  young  gentleman,  who  had  studied  at  Oxford, 
and  who,  proudly  conscious  that  his  tragedy  of  Arta- 
xerxes,  then  reposing  in  the  escritoire  at  home,  much 
outmerited  Haward's  talked-of  comedy,  felt  no  dif 
fidence  in  the  company  of  the  elder  fine  gentleman. 
He  rattled  on  of  this  and  that,  and  Evelyn  listened 
kindly,  with  only  the  curve  of  her  cheek  visible  to  the 
family  friend.  The  silver  heart  was  restored  to  its 
chain ;  the  lady  smiled  her  thanks ;  the  enamored 
youth  hitched  his  chair  some  inches  nearer  the  fair 
whom  he  had  obliged,  and,  with  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  entered  the  realm  of  high-flown  speech.  The 
gay  curtains  waved ;  the  roses  were  sweet ;  black 
Chloe  sewed  and  sewed ;  the  hairdresser's  hands  wove 
in  and  out.  as  though  he  were  a  wizard  making  passes. 

Haward  rose  to  take  his  leave.  Evelyn  yielded  him 
her  hand  ;  it  was  cold  against  his  lips.  She  was  non 
chalant  and  smiling;  he  was  easy,  unoffended,  admir 
ably  the  fine  gentleman.  For  one  moment  their  eyes 
met.  "  I  had  been  wiser,"  thought  the  man,  "  I  had 


A  QUESTION  OF  COLORS  253 

been  wiser  to  have  myself  told  her  of  that  brown 
witch,  that  innocent  sorceress !  Why  something  held 
my  tongue  1  know  not.  Now  she  hath  read  my  idyl, 
but  all  darkened,  all  awry."  The  woman  thought : 
"  Cruel  and  base !  You  knew  that  my  heart  was 
yours  to  break,  cast  aside,  and  forget !  " 

Out  of  the  house  the  sunlight  beat  and  blinded. 
Houses  of  red  brick,  houses  of  white  wood ;  the  long, 
wide,  dusty  Duke  of  Gloucester  Street ;  gnarled  mul 
berry-trees  broad-leafed  against  a  September  sky, 
deeply,  passionately  blue :  glimpses  of  wood  and  field, 
—  all  seemed  remote  without  distance,  still  without 
stillness,  the  semblance  of  a  dream,  and  yet  keen  and 
near  to  oppression.  It  was  a  town  of  stores,  of  ordi 
naries  and  public  places  ;  from  open  door  and  window 
all  along  Duke  of  Gloucester  Street  came  laughter, 
round  oaths,  now  and  then  a  scrap  of  drinking  song. 
To  Haward,  giddy,  ill  at  ease,  sickening  of  a  fever, 
the  sounds  were  now  as  a  cry  in  his  ear,  now  as  the 
noise  of  a  distant  sea.  The  minister  of  James  City 
parish  and  the  minister  of  Ware  Creek  were  walking 
before  him,  arm  in  arm,  set  full  sail  for  dinner  after 
a  stormy  morning.  "  For  lo  !  the  wicked  prospereth ! " 
said  one,  and  "  Fair  View  parish  bound  over  to  the 
devil  again  !  "  plained  the  other.  "  He  's  firm  ia  the 
saddle ;  he  '11  ride  easy  to  the  day  he  drinks  himself 
to  death,  thanks  to  this  sudden  complaisance  of  Gov 
ernor  and  Commissary !  " 

"  Thanks  to  "  —  cried  the  other  sourly,  and  gave  the 
thanks  where  they  were  due. 

Haward  heard  the  words,  but  even  in  the  act  of 
quickening  his  pace  to  lay  a  heavy  hand  upon  the 
speaker's  shoulder  a  lisclessness  came  upon  him,  and 
he  forbore.  The  memory  of  the  slurring  speech  went 


264  AUDREY 

from  him ;  his  thoughts  were  thistledown  blown  hither 
and  yon  by  every  vagrant  air.  Coming  to  Marot's 
ordinary  he  called  for  wine ;  then  went  up  the  stair 
to  his  room,  and  sitting  down  at  the  table  presently 
fell  asleep,  with  his  head  upon  his  arms. 

After  a  while  the  sounds  from  the  public  room  be 
low,  where  men  were  carousing,  disturbed  his  slumber. 
He  stirred,  and  awoke  refreshed.  It  was  afternoon, 
but  he  felt  no  hunger,  only  thirst,  which  he  quenched 
with  the  wine  at  hand.  His  windows  gave  upon  the 
Capitol  and  a  green  wood  beyond ;  the  waving  trees 
enticed,  while  the  room  was  dull  and  the  noises  of  the 
houoe  distasteful.  He  said  to  himself  that  he  would 
walk  abroad,  would  go  out  under  the  beckoning  trees 
and  be  rid  of  the  town.  He  remembered  that  the 
Council  was  to  meet  that  afternoon.  Well,  it  might 
sit  without  him !  He  was  for  the  woods,  where  dwelt 
the  cool  winds  and  the  shadows  deep  and  silent. 

A  few  yards,  and  he  was  quit  of  Duke  of  Gloucester 
Street ;  behind  him,  porticoed  Capitol,  gaol,  and  tiny 
vineclad  debtor's  prison.  In  the  gaol  yard  the  pirates 
sat  upon  a  bench  in  the  sunshine,  and  one  smoked  a 
long  pipe,  and  one  brooded  upon  his  irons.  Gold 
rings  were  in  their  ears,  and  their  black  hair  fell  from 
beneath  colored  handkerchiefs  twisted  turban  wise 
around  their  brows.  The  gaoler  watched  them,  stand 
ing  in  his  doorway,  and  his  children,  at  play  beneath 
a  tree,  built  with  sticks  a  mimic  scaffold,  and  hanged 
thereon  a  broken  puppet.  There  was  a  shady  road 
leading  through  a  wood  to  Queen's  Creek  and  the 
Capitol  Landing,  and  down  this  road  went  Haward. 
His  step  was  light ;  the  dullness,  the  throbbing  pulses, 
the  oppression  of  the  morning,  had  given  way  to  a 
restlessness  and  a  strange  exaltation  of  spirit.  Fancy 


A  QUESTION  OF  COLORS  255 

was  quickened,  imagination  heightened ;  to  himself  he 
seemed  to  see  the  heart  of  all  things.  Across  his 
mind  flitted  fragments  of  verse,  —  now  a  broken  line 
just  hinting  beauty,  now  the  pure  passion  of  a  lovely 
stanza.  His  thoughts  went  to  and  fro,  mobile  as  the 
waves  of  the  sea ;  but  firm  as  the  reefs  beneath  them 
stood  his  knowledge  that  presently  he  was  going  back 
to  Fair  View.  To-morrow,  when  the  Governor's  ball 
was  over,  when  he  could  decently  get  away,  he  would 
leave  the  town ;  he  would  go  to  his  house  in  the  coun 
try.  Late  flowers  bloomed  in  his  garden  ;  the  terrace 
was  fair  above  the  river  ;  beneath  the  red  brick  wall, 
on  the  narrow  little  creek  shining  like  a  silver  high 
way,  lay  a  winged  boat ;  and  the  highway  ran  past  a 
glebe  house;  and  in  the  glebe  house  dwelt  a  dryad 
whose  tree  had  closed  against  her.  Audrey  !  —  a  fair 
name.  .Audrey,  Audrey !  — the  birds  were  singing  it; 
out  of  the  deep,  Arcadian  shadows  any  moment  it 
might  come,  clearly  cried  by  satyr,  Pan,  or  shepherd. 
Hark  !  there  was  song  — 

It  was  but  a  negro  on  the  road  behind,  singing  to 
himself  as  he  went  about  his  master's  business.  The 
voice  was  the  voice  of  the  race,  mellow,  deep,  and 
plaintive ;  perhaps  the  song  was  of  love  in  a  burning 
land.  He  passed  the  white  man,  and  the  arching 
trees  hid  him,  but  the  wake  of  music  was  long  in  fad 
ing.  The  road  leading  through  a  cool  and  shady  dell, 
Haward  left  it,  and  took  possession  of  the  mossy 
earth  beneath  a  holly-tree.  Here,  lying  on  the  ground, 
he  could  see  the  road  through  the  intervening  foliage ; 
else  the  place  had  seemed  the  heart  of  an  ancient 
wood. 

It  was  merry  lying  where  were  glimpses  of  blue 
sky,  where  the  leaves  quivered  and  a  squirrel  chat- 


266  AUDREY 

tered  and  a  robin  sang  a  madrigal.  Youth  the  divine, 
half  way  down  the  stair  of  misty  yesterdays,  turned 
upon  his  heel  and  came  back  to  him.  He  pillowed 
his  head  upon  his  arm,  and  was  content.  It  was  well 
to  be  so  filled  with  fancies,  so  iron  of  will,  so  head 
strong  and  gay ;  to  be  friends  once  moro  with  a 
younger  Haward,  with  the  llaward  of  a  mountain  pass, 
of  mocking  comrades  and  an  irate  Excellency. 

From  the  road  came  a  rumble  of  oaths,  Sailors, 
sweating  and  straining,  were  rolling  a  very  great  cask 
of  tobacco  from  a  neighboring  warehouse  down  to  the 
landing  and  some  expectant  sloop.  Haward,  lying  at 
ease,  smiled  a,t  their  weary  task,  their  grunting  and 
swearing  ;  when  they  were  gone,  smiled  at  the  blank- 
ness  of  the  road.  All  things  pleased.  There  was 
food  for  mirth  in  the  call  of  a  partridge,  in  the  inquisi 
tive  gaze  of  a  squirrel,  in  the  web  of  a  spider  gaoler  to 
a  gilded  fly.  There  was  food  for  greater  mirth  in  the 
appearance  on  the  road  of  a  solitary  figure  in  a  wine- 
colored  coat  and  bushy  black  peruke. 

Haward  sat  up.  "  Ha,  Monacan  ! "  he  cried,  with  a 
laugh,  and  threw  a  stick  to  attract  the  man's  attention. 

Hugon  turned,  stood  astare,  then  left  the  road  and 
came  down  into  the  dell. 

"  What  fortune,  trader  ?  "  smiled  Haward.  "  Did 
your  traps  hold  in  the  great  forest?  Were  your  peo 
ple  easy  to  fool,  giving  twelve  deerskins  for  an  old 
match-coat?  There  is  charm  in  a  woodsman  life. 
Come,  tell  me  of  your  journeys,  dangers,  and  es 
capes." 

The  half-breed  looked  down  upon  him  with  a 
twitching  face.  "  What  hinders  me  from  killing  you 
now?"  he  demanded,  with  a  backward  look  at  the 
road.  "  None  may  pass  for  many  minutes." 


A  QUESTION  OF  COLORS  257 

Haward  lay  back  upon  the  moss,  with  his  hands 
locked  beneath  his  head.  "What  indeed?"  he  an 
swered  calmly.  "  Come,  here  is  a  velvet  log,  fit  seat 
for  an  emperor  —  or  a  sachem ;  sit  and  tell  me  of 
your  life  in  the  woods.  For  peace  pipe  let  me  offer 
my  snuffbox."  In  his  mad  humor  he  sat  up  again, 
drew  from  his  pocket,  and  presented  with  the  most 
approved  flourish,  his  box  of  chased  gold.  "  Monsieur, 
c'est  le  tabac  pour  le  nez  d'un  monarque,"  he  said 
lazily. 

Hugon  sat  down  upon  the  log,  helped  himself  to 
the  mixture  with  a  grand  air,  and  shook  the  yellow 
dust  from  his  ruffles.  The  action,  meant  to  be  airy, 
only  achieved  fierceness.  From  some  hidden  sheath  he 
drew  a  knife,  and  began  to  strip  from  the  log  a  piece 
of  bark.  "  Tell  me,  you,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  been 
to  France  ?  TV  hat  manner  of  land  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  gay  country,"  answered  Haward  ;  "  a  land 
where  the  men  are  all  white,  and  where  at  present, 
periwigs  are  worn  much  shorter  than  the  one  monsieur 
affects." 

"  He  is  a  great  brave,  a  French  gentleman  ?  Al 
ways  he  kills  the  man  he  hates  ?  " 

"  Not  always,"  said  the  other.  "  Sometimes  the 
man  he  hates  kills  him." 

By  now  one  end  of  the  piece  of  bark  in  the  trader's 
hands  was  shredded  to  tinder.  He  drew  from  his 
pocket  his  flint  and  steel,  and  struck  a  spark  into  the 
frayed  mass.  It  flared  up,  and  he  held  first  the  tips 
of  his  fingers,  then  the  palm  of  his  hand,  then  his 
bared  forearm,  in  the  flame  that  licked  and  scorched 
the  flesh.  His  face  was  perfectly  unmoved,  his  eyes 
unchanged  in  their  expression  of  hatred.  "  Can  he 
do  this?"  he  asked. 


258  AUDREY 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Haward  lightly.  "  It  is  a  very 
foolish  thing  to  do." 

The  flame  died  out,  and  the  trader  tossed  aside 
the  charred  bit  of  bark.  "  There  was  old  Pierre  at 
Monacan-Town  who  taught  me  to  pray  to  le  bon  Dieu. 
He  told  rne  how  grand  and  fine  is  a  French  gentle 
man,  and  that  I  was  the  son  of  many  such.  He 
called  the  English  great  pigs,  with  brains  as  dull  and 
muddy  as  the  river  after  many  rains.  My  mother  was 
the  daughter  of  a  chief.  She  had  strings  of  pearl  for 
her  neck,  and  copper  for  her  arms,  and  a  robe  of 
white  doeskin,  very  soft  and  fine.  When  she  was 
dead  and  my  father  was  dead,  I  came  from  Monacan- 
Town  to  your  English  school  over  yonder.  I  can  read 
and  write.  I  am  a  white  man  and  a  Frenchman,  not 
an  Indian.  When  I  go  to  the  villages  in  the  woods, 
I  am  given  a  lodge  apart,  and  the  men  and  women 
gather  to  hear  a  white  man  speak.  .  .  .  You  have 
done  me  wrong  with  that  girl,  that  MaWselle  Audrey 
that  I  wish  for  wife.  We  are  enemies :  that  is  as  it 
should  be.  You  shall  not  have  her,  —  never,  never! 
But  you  despise  me ;  how  is  that  ?  That  day  upon 
the  creek,  that  night  in  your  cursed  house,  you 
laughed  "  — 

The  Haward  of  the  mountain  pass,  regarding  the 
twitching  face  opposite  him  and  the  hand  clenched 
upon  the  handle  of  a  knife,  laughed  again.  At  the 
sound  the  trader's  face  ceased  to  twitch.  Haward  felt 
rather  than  saw  the  stealthy  tightening  of  the  frame, 
the  gathering  of  forces,  the  closer  grasp  upon  the 
knife,  and  Hung  out  his  arm.  A  hare  scurried  past, 
making  for  the  deeper  woods.  From  the  road  came 
the  tramp  of  a  horse  and  a  man's  voice,  singing.  — 
" 6  To  all  you  ladies  DOW  on  laud ' "  — 


A  QUESTION  OF  COLORS  259 

while  an  inquisitive  dog  turned  aside  from  the  road, 
and  plunged  into  the  dell. 

The  rider,  having  checked  his  horse  and  quit  his 
song  in  order  to  call  to  his  dog,  looked  through  the 
thin  veil  of  foliage  and  saw  the  two  men  beneath  the 
holly-tree.  "  Ha,  Jean  Hugon  !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  that 
you  ?  Where  is  that  packet  of  skins  you  were  to  de 
liver  at  my  store  ?  Come  over  here,  man  !  " 

The  trader  moistened  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue, 
and  slipped  the  knife  back  into  its  sheath.  "  Had 
we  been  a  mile  in  the  woods,"  he  said,  "  yon  would 
have  laughed  no  more." 

Haward  watched  him  go.  The  argument  with  the 
rider  was  a  lengthy  one.  He  upon  horseback  would 
not  stand  still  in  the  road  to  finish  it,  but  put  his  beast 
into  motion.  The  trader,  explaining  and  gesticulating, 
walked  beside  his  stirrup ;  the  voices  grew  fainter 
and  fainter,  —  were  gone.  Haward  laughed  to  him 
self  ;  then,  with  his  eyes  raised  to  the  depth  on  depth 
of  blue,  serene  beyond  the  grating  of  thorn-pointed 
leaves,  sent  his  spirit  to  his  red  brick  house  and  silent, 
sunny  garden,  with  the  gate  in  the  ivied  wall,  and  the 
six  steps  down  to  the  boat  and  the  lapping  water. 

The  shadows  lengthened,  and  a  wind  of  the  evening 
entered  the  wood.  Haward  shook  off  the  lethargy 
that  had  kept  him  lying  there  for  the  better  part  of 
an  afternoon,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  left  the  green  dell 
for  the  road,  ail  shadow  now,  winding  back  to  the  toy 
metropolis,  to  Marot's  ordinary,  to  the  ball  at  the 
Palace  that  night. 

The  ball  at  the  Palace !  —  he  had  forgotten  it. 
Flare  of  lights,  wail  of  violins,  a  painted,  silken  crowd, 
laughter,  whispers,  magpie  chattering,  wine,  and  the 
weariness  of  the  dance,  when  his  soul  would  long  to 


260  AUDREY 

be  with  the  night  outside,  with  the  rising  wind  and 
the  shining  stars.  He  half  determined  not  to  go. 
What  mattered  the  offense  that  would  be  taken  ?  Did 
he  go  he  would  repent,  wearied  and  ennuye,  watching 
Evelyn,  all  rose-colored,  moving  with  another  through 
the  minuet ;  tied  himself  perhaps  to  some  pert  miss, 
or  cornered  in  a  card-room  by  boisterous  gamesters, 
or,  drinking  with  his  peers,  called  on  to  toast  the  lady 
of  his  dreams.  Better  the  dull  room  at  Marot's  ordi 
nary,  or  better  still  to  order  Mirza,  and  ride  off  at 
the  planter's  pace,  through  the  starshine,  to  Fair  View. 
On  the  river  bank  before  the  store  Mac  Lean  might 
be  lying,  dreaming  of  a  mighty  wind  and  a  fierce 
death.  He  would  dismount,  and  sit  beside  that  High 
land  gentleman,  Jacobite  and  strong  man,  and  their 
moods  would  chime  as  they  had  chimed  before.  Then 
on  to  the  house  and  to  the  eastern  window!  Not 
to-night,  but  to-morrow  night,  perhaps,  would  the 
darkness  be  pierced  by  the  calm  pale  star  that  marked 
another  window.  It  was  all  a  mistake,  that  month  at 
Westover,  —  days  lost  and  wasted,  the  running  of 
golden  sands  ill  to  spare  from  Love's  brief  glass.  .  .  . 

His  mood  had  changed  when,  with  the  gathering 
dusk,  he  entered  his  room  at  Marot's  ordinary.  He 
would  go  to  the  Palace  that  night ;  it  would  be  the 
act  of  a  boy  to  fling  away  through  the  darkness,  shirk 
ing  a  duty  his  position  demanded.  He  would  go  and 
be  merry,  watching  Evelyn  in  the  gown  that  Peter 
borough  had  praised. 

When  Juba  had  lighted  the  candles,  he  sat  and  drank 
and  drank  again  of  the  red  wine  upon  the  table.  It 
put  maggots  in  his  brain,  fired  arid  flushed  him  to  the 
spirit's  core.  An  idea  came,  at  which  he  laughed. 
He  bade  it  go,  but  it  would  not.  It  stayed,  and  his 


A  QUESTION  OP  COLORS  261 

fevered  fancy  played  around  it  as  a  moth  around  a 
candle.  At  first  he  knew  it  for  a  notion,  bizarre  and 
absurd,  which  presently  he  would  dismiss.  All  day 
strange  thoughts  had  come  and  gone,  appearing,  dis 
appearing,  like  will-o'-the-wisps  for  which  a  man  upon 
a  firm  road  has  no  care.  Never  fear  that  he  will  fol 
low  them  !  He  sees  the  marsh,  that  it  has  no  footing. 
So  with  this  Jack-o'-lantern  conception,  —  it  would 
vanish  as  it  came. 

It  did  not  so.  Instead,  when  he  had  drunken  more 
wine,  and  had  sat  for  some  time  methodically  measur 
ing,  over  and  over  again,  with  thumb  and  forefinger, 
the  distance  from  candle  to  bottle,  and  from  bottle  te 
glass,  the  idea  began  to  lose  its  wildfire  aspect.  In 
no  great  time  it  appeared  an  inspiration  as  reasonable 
as  happy.  When  this  point  had  been  reached,  he 
stamped  upon  the  floor  to  summon  his  servant  from 
the  room  below.  "  Lay  out  the  white  and  gold,  Juba," 
he  ordered,  when  the  negro  appeared,  "  and  come 
make  me  very  fine.  I  am  for  the  Palace,  —  I  and  a 
brown  lady  that  hath  bewitched  me  !  The  white 
sword  knot,  sirrah ;  and  cock  my  hat  with  the  diamond 
brooch"  — 

It  was  a  night  that  was  thronged  with  stars,  and 
visited  by  a  whispering  wind.  Havvard,  walking  rap 
idly  along  the  almost  deserted  Nicholson  Street,  lifted 
his  burning  forehead  to  the  cool  air  and  the  star- 
strewn  fields  of  heaven.  Coming  to  the  gate  by  which 
he  had  entered  the  afternoon  before,  he  raised  the 
latch  and  passed  into  the  garden.  By  now  his  fever 
was  full  upon  him,  and  it  was  a  man  scarce  to  be  held 
responsible  for  his  actions  that  presently  knocked  at  the 
door  of  the  long  room  where,  at  the  window  opening 
upon  Palace  Street,  Audrey  sat  with  Mistress  Stagg 
and  watched  the  people  going  to  the  ball, 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  GOVERNOR'S  BALL 

FOR  an  hour  ifc  had  been  very  quiet,  very  peaceful, 
in  the  small  white  house  on  Palace  Street.  Darden 
was  not  there  ;  for  the  Commissary  had  sent  for  him, 
having  certain  inquiries  to  make  and  a  stern  warning 
to  deliver.  Mistress  Deborah  had  been  asked  to  spend 
the  night  with  an  acquaintance  in  the  town,  so  she  also 
was  out  and  gone.  Mistress  Stagg  and  Audrey  kept 
the  lower  rooms,  while  overhead  Mr.  Charles  Stagg,  a 
man  that  loved  his  art,  walked  up  and  down,  and,  with 
many  wavings  of  a  laced  handkerchief  and  much  resort 
to  a  gilt  snuffbox,  reasoned  with  Plato  of  death  and 
the  soul.  The  murmur  of  his  voice  came  down  to  the 
two  women,  and  made  the  only  sound  in  the  house. 
Audrey,  sitting  by  the  window,  her  chin  upon  her  hand 
and  her  dark  hair  shadowing  her  face,  looked  out  upon 
the  dooryard  and  the  Palace  Street  beyond.  The 
street  was  lit  by  torches,  and  people  were  going  to  the 
ball  in  coaches  and  chariots,  on  foot  and  in  painted 
chairs.  They  went  gayly,  light  of  heart,  fine  of  per 
son,  a  free  and  generous  folk.  Laughter  floated  over 
to  the  silent  watcher,  and  the  torchlight  gave  her 
glimpses  of  another  land  than  her  own. 

Many  had  been  Mitstress  Stagg's  customers  since 
morning,  and  something  had  she  heard  besides  admi 
ration  of  her  wares  and  exclamation  at  her  prices. 


THE   GOVERNOR'S  BALL  263 

Now,  as  she  sat  with  some  gay  sewing  beneath  her 
nimble  fingers,  she  glanced  once  and  again  at  the 
shadowed  face  opposite  her.  If  the  look  was  not  one 
of  curiosity  alone,  but  had  in  it  an  admixture  of  new 
found  respect ;  if  to  Mistress  Stagg  the  Audrey  of 
yesterday,  unnoted,  unwhispered  of,  was  a  being  some 
what  lowlier  than  the  Audrey  of  to-day,  it  may  be 
remembered  for  her  that  she  was  an  actress  of  the 
early  eighteenth  century,  and  that  fate  and  an  old 
mother  to  support  had  put  her  in  that  station. 

The  candles  beneath  their  glass  shades  burned 
steadily ;  the  house  grew  very  quiet ;  the  noises  of  the 
street  lessened  and  lessened,  for  now  nearly  all  of  the 
people  were  gone  to  the  ball.  Audrey  watched  the 
round  of  light  cast  by  the  nearest  torch.  For  a  long 
time  she  had  watched  it,  thinking  that  he  might  per 
haps  cross  the  circle,  and  she  might  see  him  in  his 
splendor.  She  was  still  watching  when  he  knocked  at 
the  garden  door. 

Mistress  Stagg,  sitting  in  a  dream  of  her  own, 
started  violently.  "  La,  now,  who  may  that  be  ?  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Go  to  the  door,  child.  If  't  is  a  stranger, 
we  shelter  none  such,  to  be  taken  up  for  the  harboring 
of  runaways  !  " 

Audrey  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  A  mo 
ment's  pause,  a  low  cry,  and  she  moved  backward  to 
the  wall,  where  she  stood  with  her  slender  form  sharply 
drawn  against  the  white  plaster,  and  with  the  fugitive, 
elusive  charm  of  her  face  quickened  into  absolute 
beauty,  imperious  for  attention.  Ha  ward,  thus  ush 
ered  into  the  room,  gave  the  face  its  due.  His  eyes, 
bright  and  fixed,  were  for  it  alone.  Mistress  Stagg' s 
curtsy  went  unacknowledged  save  by  a  slight,  mechan 
ical  motion  of  his  hand,  and  her  inquiry  as  to  what  he 


264  AUDREY 

lacked  that  she  could  supply  received  no  answer.  He 
was  a  very  handsome  man,  of  a  bearing  both  easy  and 
commanding,  and  to-night  he  was  splendidly  dressed 
in  white  satin  with  embroidery  of  gold.  To  one  of  the 
women  he  seemed  the  king,  who  could  do  no  wrong ; 
to  the  other,  more  learned  in  the  book  of  the  world,  he 
was  merely  a  fine  gentleman,  whose  way  might  as  well 
be  given  him  at  once,  since,  spite  of  denial,  he  would 
presently  take  it. 

Ha  ward  sat  down,  resting  his  clasped  hands  upon 
the  table,  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  face,  dark  and 
beautiful,  set  like  a  flower  against  the  wall.  "  Come, 
little  maid !  "  he  said.  "  We  are  going  to  the  ball  to 
gether,  you  and  I.  Hasten,  or  we  shall  not  be  in  time 
for  the  minuet." 

Audrey  smiled  and  shook  her  head,  thinking  that  it 
was  his  pleasure  to  laugh  at  her  a  little.  Mistress 
Stagg  likewise  showed  her  appreciation  of  the  plea 
santry.  When  he  repeated  his  command,  speaking  in 
an  authoritative  tone  and  with  a  glance  at  his  watch, 
there  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence  ;  then,  "  Go  your 
ways,  sir,  and  dance  with  Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd ! " 
cried  the  scandalized  ex-actress.  "The  Governor's 
ball  is  not  for  the  likes  of  Audrey !  " 

"  I  will  be  judge  of  that,"  he  answered.  "  Come, 
let  us  be  off,  child !  Or  stay  !  hast  no  other  dress 
than  that?"  He  looked  toward  the  mistress  of  the 
house.  "  I  warrant  that  Mistress  Stagg  can  trick  you 
out !  I  would  have  you  go  fine,  Audrey  of  the  hair ! 
Audrey  of  the  eyes  !  Audrey  of  the  full  brown  throat ! 
Dull  gold,  —  have  you  that,  now,  mistress,  in  damask 
or  brocade  ?  Soft  laces  for  her  bosom,  and  a  yellow 
bloom  in  her  hair.  It  should  be  dogwood,  Audrey, 
like  the  coronal  you  wore  on  May  Day.  Do  you  re- 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  BALL  265 

member,  child  ?  The  white  stars  in  your  hair,  and 
the  Maypole  all  aflutter,  and  your  feet  upon  the  green 
grass  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  was  happy  then ! "  cried  Audrey  and 
wrung  her  hands.  Within  a  moment,  however,  she 
was  calm  again,  and  could  look  at  him  with  a  smile. 
"  I  am  only  Audrey,"  she  said.  "  You  know  that  the 
ball  is  not  for  me.  Why  then  do  you  tell  me  that  I 
must  go  ?  It  is  your  kindness  ;  I  know  that  it  is  your 
kindness  that  speaks.  But  yet  —  but  yet  "  —  She 
gazed  at  him  imploringly  ;  then  from  his  steady  smile 
caught  a  sudden  encouragement.  "  Oh !  "  she  ex 
claimed  with  a  gesture  of  quick  relief,  and  with  tremu 
lous  laughter  in  her  face  and  voice,  —  "oh,  you  are 
mocking  me !  You  only  came  to  show  how  a  gentle 
man  looks  who  goes  to  a  Governor's  ball !  " 

For  the  moment,  in  her  relief  at  having  read  his 
riddle,  there  slipped  from  her  the  fear  of  she  knew 
not  what,  —  the  strangeness  and  heaviness  of  heart 
that  had  been  her  portion  since  she  came  to  Williams- 
burgh.  Leaving  the  white  wall  against  which  she 
had  leaned,  she  came  a  little  forward,  and  with  gayety 
and  grace  dropped  him  a  curtsy.  "  Oh,  the  white 
satin  like  the  lilies  in  your  garden !  "  she  laughed. 
"  And  the  red  heels  to  your  shoes,  and  the  gold-fringed 
sword  knot,  and  the  velvet  scabbard !  Ah,  let  me  see 
your  sword,  how  bright  and  keen  it  is !  " 

She  was  Audrey  of  the  garden,  and  Haward,  smiling, 
drew  his  rapier  and  laid  it  in  her  hands.  She  looked 
at  the  golden  hilt,  and  passed  her  brown  fingers  along 
the  gleaming  blade.  "  Stainless,"  she  said,  and  gave 
it  back  to  him. 

Taking  it,  he  took  also  the  hand  that  had  proffered 
it  "  I  was  not  laughing,  child,"  he  said.  "  Go  to 


266  AUDREY 

the  ball  thou  shalt,  and  with  me.  What !  Thou  art 
young  and  fair.  Shalt  have  no  pleasure"  — 

"  What  pleasure  in  that  ?  "  cried  Audrey.  "  I  may 
not  go,  sir ;  nay,  I  will  not  go !  " 

She  freed  her  hand,  and  stood  with  heaving  bosom 
and  eyes  that  very  slowly  filled  with  tears.  Haward 
saw  no  reason  for  her  tears.  It  was  true  that  she  was 
young  and  fair ;  true,  also,  that  she  had  few  pleasures. 
Well,  he  would  change  all  that.  The  dance,  —  was  it 
not  woven  by  those  nymphs  of  old,  those  sprites  of 
open  spaces  in  the  deep  woods,  from  whose  immemorial 
company  she  must  have  strayed  into  this  present  time  ? 
Now  at  the  Palace  the  candles  were  burning  for  her, 
for  her  the  music  was  playing.  Her  welcome  there 
amidst  the  tinsel  people  ?  Trust  him  for  that :  he  was 
what  he  was,  and  could  compass  greater  things  than 
that  would  be.  Go  she  should,  because  it  pleased  him 
to  please  her,  and  because  it  was  certainly  necessary 
for  him  to  oppose  pride  with  pride,  and  before  the  eyes 
of  Evelyn  demonstrate  his  indifference  to  that  lady's 
choice  of  Mr.  Lee  for  the  minuet  and  Mr.  Lightfoot 
for  the  country  dance.  This  last  thought  had  far  to 
travel  from  some  unused,  deep-down  quagmire  of  the 
heart,  but  it  came.  For  the  rest,  the  image  of  Audrey 
decked  in  silk  and  lace,  turned  by  her  apparel  into  a 
dark  Court  lady,  a  damsel  in  waiting  to  Queen  Titania, 
caught  his  fancy  in  both  hands.  He  wished  to  see  her 
thus,  —  wished  it  so  strongly  that  he  knew  it  would 
come  to  pass.  He  was  a  gentleman  who  had  acquired 
the  habit  of  having  his  own  way.  There  had  been 
times  when  the  price  of  his  way  had  seemed  too  dear ; 
when  he  had  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  ceased  to 
desire  what  he  would  not  buy.  To-night  he  was  not 
able  to  count  the  cost.  But  he  knew  —  he  knew 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  BALL  267 

cruelly  well  —  how  to  cut  short  this  fruitless  protest 
of  a  young  girl  who  thought  him  all  that  was  wise  and 
great  and  good. 

"  So  you  cannot  say  '  yes '  to  my  asking,  little  maid  ?  " 
he  began,  quiet  and  smiling.  "  Cannot  trust  me  that 
I  have  reasons  for  the  asking?  Well,  I  will  not  ask 
again,  Audrey,  since  it  is  so  great  a  thing  "  — 

"  Oh,"  cried  Audrey,  "  you  know  that  I  would  die 
for  you !  "  The  tears  welled  over,  but  she  brushed 
them  away  with  a  trembling  hand ;  then  stood  with 
raised  face,  her  eyes  soft  and  dewy,  a  strange  smile 
upon  her  lips.  She  spoke  at  last  as  simply  as  a 
child :  "  Why  you  want  me,  that  am  only  Audrey,  to 
go  with  you  to  the  Palace  yonder,  I  cannot  tell.  But 
I  will  go,  though  I  am  only  Audrey,  and  I  have  no 
other  dress  than  this  "  — 

Haward  got  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  and  lightly 
touched  the  dark  head  that  she  bowed  upon  her  hands. 
"  Why,  now  you  are  Audrey  again,"  he  said  approv 
ingly.  "  Why,  child,  I  would  do  you  a  pleasure  ! " 
He  turned  to  the  player's  wife.  "  She  must  not  go  in 
this  guise.  Have  you  no  finery  stowed  away  ?  " 

Now,  Mistress  Stagg,  though  much  scandalized,  and 
very  certain  that  all  this  would  never  do,  was  in  her 
way  an  artist,  and  could  see  as  in  a  mirror  what  bare 
throat  and  shoulders,  rich  hair  drawn  loosely  up,  a 
touch  of  rouge,  a  patch  or  two,  a  silken  gown,  might 
achieve  for  Audrey.  And  after  all,  had  not  Deborah 
told  her  that  the  girl  was  Mr.  Haward's  ward,  not 
Darden's,  and  that  though  Mr.  Haward  came  and 
went  as  he  pleased,  and  was  very  kind  to  Audrey,  so 
that  Darden  was  sure  of  getting  whatever  the  girl 
asked  for,  yet  she  was  a  good  girl,  and  there  was  no 
harm  ?  For  the  talk  that  day,  —  people  were  very 


268  AUDREY 

idle,  and  given  to  thinking  the  forest  afire  when  there 
was  only  the  least  curl  of  smoke.  And  in  short  and 
finally  it  was  none  of  her  business ;  but  with  the  aid 
of  a  certain  chest  upstairs,  she  knew  what  she  could 
do  !  To  the  ball  might  go  a  beauty  would  make  Mis 
tress  Evelyn  Byrd  look  to  her  laurels  ! 

"  There 's  the  birthday  dress  that  Madam  Carter 
sent  us  only  last  week,"  she  began  hesitatingly.  "  It 's 
very  beautiful,  and  a'most  as  good  as  new,  and  't  would 
suit  you  to  a  miracle  —  But  I  vow  you  must  not  go, 
Audrey !  .  .  .  To  be  sure,  the  damask  is  just  the  tint 
for  you,  and  there  are  roses  would  answer  for  your 
hair.  But  la,  sir,  you  know  't  will  never  do,  never  in 
this  world." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Haward  rose  from  his  chair  and 
bowed  low  as  to  some  highborn  and  puissant  dame. 
The  fever  that  was  now  running  high  in  his  veins 
flushed  his  cheek  and  made  his  eyes  exceedingly  bright. 
When  he  went  up  to  Audrey,  and  in  graceful  mockery 
of  her  sudden  coming  into  her  kingdom,  took  her  hand 
and,  bending,  kissed  it,  the  picture  that  they  made 
cried  out  for  some  painter  to  preserve  it.  Her  hand 
dropped  from  his  clasp,  and  buried  itself  in  rich  folds 
of  flowered  damask;  the  quick  rise  and  fall  of  her 
bosom  stirred  soft,  yellowing  laces,  and  made  to  flash 
like  diamonds  some  ornaments  of  marcasite ;  her  face 
was  haunting  in  its  pain  and  bewilderment  and  great 
beauty,  and  in  the  lie  which  her  eyes  gave  to  the  false 
roses  beneath  those  homes  of  sadness  and  longing. 
She  had  no  word  to  say ;  she  was  "  only  Audrey,"  and 
she  could  not  understand.  But  she  wished  to  do  his 
bidding,  and  so,  when  he  cried  out  upon  her  melan 
choly,  and  asked  her  if  't  were  indeed  a  Sunday  in 
New  England  instead  of  a  Saturday  in  Virginia,  she 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  BALL  269 

smiled,  and  strove  to  put  on  the  mind  as  well  as  the 
garb  of  a  gay  lady  who  might  justly  go  to  the  Gov 
ernor's  ball. 

Half  frightened  at  her  own  success,  Mistress  Stagg 
hovered  around  her,  giving  this  or  that  final  touch  to 
her  costume ;  but  it  was  Haward  himself  who  put  the 
roses  in  her  hair.  "  A  little  longer,  and  we  will  walk 
once  more  in  my  garden  at  Fair  View,"  he  said. 
"  June  shall  come  again  for  us,  and  we  will  tread  the 
quiet  paths,  my  sweet,  and  all  the  roses  shall  bloom 
again  for  us.  There,  you  are  crowned !  Hail,  Queen !  " 

Audrey  felt  the  touch  of  his  lips  upon  her  forehead, 
and  shivered.  All  her  world  was  going  round;  she 
could  not  steady  it,  could  not  see  aright,  knew  not 
what  was  happening.  The  strangeness  made  her 
dizzy.  She  hardly  heard  Mistress  Stagg's  last  pro 
test  that  it  would  never  do,  —  never  in  the  world ; 
hardly  knew  when  she  left  the  house.  She  was  out 
beneath  the  stars,  moving  toward  a  lit  Palace  whence 
came  the  sound  of  violins.  Haward's  arm  was  beneath 
her  hand ;  his  voice  was  in  her  ear,  but  it  was  as  the 
wind's  voice,  whose  speech  she  did  not  understand. 
Suddenly  they  were  within  the  Palace  garden,  with 
its  winding,  torchlit  walks,  and  the  terraces  at  the 
side;  suddenly  again,  they  had  mounted  the  Palace 
steps,  and  the  doors  were  open,  and  she  was  confronted 
with  lights  and  music  and  shifting,  dazzling  figures. 
She  stood  still,  clasped  her  hands,  and  gave  Haward 
a  piteous  look.  Her  face,  for  all  its  beauty  and  its 
painted  roses,  was  strangely  the  child's  face  that  had 
lain  upon  his  breast,  where  he  knelt  amid  the  corn,  in 
the  valley  between  the  hills,  so  long  ago.  He  gave 
her  mute  appeal  no  heed.  The  Governor's  guests, 
passing  from  room  to  room,  crossed  and  recrossed  the 


270  AUDREY 

wide  hall,  and  down  the  stairway,  to  meet  a  row  of 
gallants  impatient  at  its  foot,  came  fair  women,  one 
after  the  other,  the  flower  of  the  colony,  clothed  upon 
like  the  lilies  of  old.  Haward,  entering  with  Audrey, 
saw  Mr.  Lee  at  the  stairfoot,  and,  raising  his  eyes, 
was  aware  of  Evelyn  descending  alone  and  somewhat 
slowly,  all  in  rose  color,  and  with  a  smile  upon  her 
lips. 

She  was  esteemed  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Virginia,  the  most  graceful  and  accomplished.  Wit 
and  charm  and  fortune  were  hers,  and  the  little  gay 
world  of  Virginia  had  mated  her  with  Mr.  Marmaduke 
Haward  of  Fair  View.  Therefore  that  portion  of  it 
that  chanced  to  be  in  the  hall  of  the  Governor's  house 
withdrew  for  the  moment  its  attention  from  its  own 
affairs,  and  bestowed  it  upon  those  of  the  lady  descend 
ing  the  stairs,  and  of  the  gold-and-white  gentleman 
who,  with  a  strange  beauty  at  his  side,  stood  directly 
in  her  path.  It  was  a  very  wise  little  world,  and  since 
yesterday  afternoon  had  been  fairly  bursting  with  its 
own  knowledge.  It  knew  all  about  that  gypsy  who 
had  come  to  town  from  Fair  View  parish,  —  "  La,  my 
dear,  just  the  servant  of  a  minister  I  "  —  and  knew  to 
a  syllable  what  had  passed  in  the  violent  quarrel  to 
which  Mr.  Lee  owed  his  good  fortune. 

That  triumphant  gentleman  now  started  forward, 
and,  with  a  low  bow,  extended  his  hand  to  lead  to  the 
ballroom  this  rose-colored  paragon  and  cynosure  of 
all  eyes.  Evelyn  smiled  upon  him,  and  gave  him  her 
scarf  to  hold,  but  would  not  be  hurried ;  must  first 
speak  to  her  old  friend  Mr.  Haward,  and  tell  him  that 
her  father's  foot  could  now  bear  the  shoe,  and  that  he 
might  appear  before  the  ball  was  over.  This  done, 
she  withdrew  her  gaze  from  Haward's  strangely  ani- 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  BALL  271 

mated,  vividly  handsome  countenance,  and  turned  it 
upon  the  figure  at  his  side.  "  Pray  present  me !  "  she 
said  quickly.  "  I  do  not  think  I  have  the  honor  of 
knowing  "  — 

Audrey  raised  her  head,  that  had  been  bent,  and 
looked  again,  as  she  had  looked  yesterday,  with  all 
her  innocent  soul  and  heavy  heart,  into  the  eyes  of 
the  princess.  The  smile  died  from  Evelyn's  lips,  and 
a  great  wave  of  indignant  red  surged  over  face  and 
neck  and  bosom.  The  color  fled,  but  not  the  bitter 
anger.  So  he  could  bring  his  fancy  there !  Could 
clothe  her  that  was  a  servant  wench  in  a  splendid 
gown,  and  flaunt  her  before  the  world  —  before  the 
world  that  must  know  —  oh,  God !  must  know  how 
she  herself  loved  him !  He  could  do  this  after  that 
month  at  Westover !  She  drew  her  breath,  and  met 
the  insult  fairly.  "  I  withdraw  my  petition,"  she  said 
clearly.  "  Now  that  I  bethink  me,  my  acquaintance 
is  already  somewhat  too  great.  Mr.  Lee,  shall  we 
not  join  the  company  ?  I  have  yet  to  make  my  curtsy 
to  his  Excellency." 

With  head  erect,  and  with  no  attention  to  spare 
from  the  happy  Mr.  Lee,  she  passed  the  sometime 
suitor  for  her  hand  and  the  apple  of  discord  which  it 
had  pleased  him  to  throw  into  the  assembly.  A 
whisper  ran  around  the  hall.  Audrey  heard  sup 
pressed  laughter,  and  heard  a  speech  which  she  did 
not  understand,  but  which  was  uttered  in  an  angry 
voice,  much  like  Mistress  Deborah's  when  she  chided. 
A  sudden  terror  of  herself  and  of  Haward's  world 
possessed  her.  She  turned  where  she  stood  in  her 
borrowed  plumage,  and  clung  to  his  hand  and  arm. 
"Let  me  go,"  she  begged.  "It  is  all  a  mistake, — 
all  wrong.  Let  me  go,  —  let  me  go." 


272  AUDREY 

He  laughed  at  her,  shaking  his  head  and  looking 
into  her  beseeching  face  with  shining,  far-off  eyes. 
"  Thou  dear  fool !  "  he  said.  "  The  ball  is  made  for 
thee,  and  all  these  folk  are  here  to  do  thee  honor ! " 
Holding  her  by  the  hand,  he  moved  with  her  toward  a 
wide  doorway,  through  which  could  be  seen  a  greater 
throng  of  beautifully  dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Music  came  from  this  room,  and  she  saw  that  there 
were  dancers,  and  that  beyond  them,  upon  a  sort  of 
dais,  and  before  a  great  carved  chair,  stood  a  fine  gen 
tleman  who,  she  knew,  must  be  his  Excellency  the 
Governor  of  Virginia. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  UNINVITED  GUEST 

"MISTRESS  AUDREY?"  said  the  Governor  gra 
ciously,  as  the  lady  in  damask  rose  from  her  curtsy. 
"Mistress  Audrey  whom?  Mr.  Haward,  you  gave 
me  not  the  name  of  the  stock  that  hath  flowered  in  so 
beauteous  a  bloom." 

"  Why,  sir,  the  bloom  is  all  in  all,"  answered  Ha 
ward.  "  What  root  it  springs  from  matters  not.  I 
trust  that  your  Excellency  is  in  good  health,  —  that 
you  feel  no  touch  of  our  seasoning  fever  ?  " 

"  I  asked  the  lady's  name,  sir,"  said  the  Governor 
pointedly.  He  was  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  knot 
of  gentlemen,  members  of  the  Council  and  officers  of 
the  colony.  All  around  the  long  room,  seated  in 
chairs  arow  against  the  walls,  or  gathered  in  laughing 
groups,  or  moving  about  with  a  rustle  and  gleam  of 
silk,  were  the  Virginians  his  guests.  From  the  gal 
lery,  where  were  bestowed  the  musicians  out  of  three 
parishes,  floated  the  pensive  strains  of  a  minuet,  and 
in  the  centre  of  the  polished  floor,  under  the  eyes  of 
the  company,  several  couples  moved  and  postured 
through  that  stately  dance. 

"  The  lady  is  my  ward,"  said  Haward  lightly.  "  I 
call  her  Audrey.  Child,  tell  his  Excellency  your  other 
name." 

If  he  thought  at  all,  he  thought  that  she  could  do 


274  AUDREY 

it.  But  such  an  estray,  such  a  piece  of  flotsam,  was 
Audrey,  that  she  could  not  help  him  out.  "  They  call 
me  Darden's  Audrey,"  she  explained  to  the  Gov 
ernor.  "If  I  ever  heard  my  father's  name,  I  have 
forgotten  it." 

Her  voice,  though  low,  reached  all  those  who  had 
ceased  from  their  own  concerns  to  stare  at  this  strange 
guest,  this  dark-eyed,  shrinking  beauty,  so  radiantly 
attired.  The  whisper  had  preceded  her  from  the  hall : 
there  had  been  fluttering  and  comment  enough  as, 
under  the  fire  of  all  those  eyes,  she  had  passed  with 
Haward  to  where  stood  the  Governor  receiving  his 
guests.  But  the  whisper  had  not  reached  his  Excel 
lency's  ears.  In  London  he  had  been  slightly  ac 
quainted  with  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward,  and  now 
knew  him  for  a  member  of  his  Council,  and  a  gentle 
man  of  much  consequence  in  that  Virginia  which  he 
had  come  to  rule.  Moreover,  he  had  that  very  morn 
ing  granted  a  favor  to  Mr.  Haward,  and  by  reason 
thereof  was  inclined  to  think  amiably  of  the  gentle 
man.  Of  the  piece  of  dark  loveliness  whom  the  Vir 
ginian  had  brought  forward  to  present,  who  could 
think  otherwise  ?  But  his  Excellency  was  a  formal 
man,  punctilious,  and  cautious  of  his  state.  The  bow 
with  which  he  received  the  strange  lady's  curtsy  had 
been  profound ;  in  speaking  to  her  he  had  made  his 
tones  honey-sweet,  while  his  compliment  quite  capped 
the  one  just  paid  to  Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd.  And  now 
it  would  appear  that  the  lady  had  no  name !  Nay, 
from  the  looks  that  were  being  exchanged,  and  from 
the  tittering  that  had  risen  amongst  the  younger  of 
his  guests,  there  must  be  more  amiss  than  that !  His 
Excellency  frowned,  drew  himself  up,  and  turned  what 
was  meant  to  be  a  searching  and  terrible  eye  upon  the 


THE  UNINVITED   GUEST  275 

recreant  in  white  satin.  Audrey  caught  the  look,  for 
which  Haward  cared  no  whit.  Oh,  she  knew  that  she 
had  no  business  there,  —  she  that  only  the  other  day 
had  gone  barefoot  on  Darden's  errands,  had  been  kept 
waiting  in  hall  or  kitchen  of  these  people's  houses ! 
She  knew  that,  for  all  her  silken  gown,  she  had  no 
place  among  them ;  but  she  thought  that  they  were 
not  kind  to  stare  and  whisper  and  laugh,  shaming  her 
before  one  another  and  before  him.  Her  heart  swelled  ; 
to  the  dreamy  misery  of  the  day  and  evening  was 
added  a  passionate  sense  of  hurt  and  wrong  and  injus 
tice.  Her  pride  awoke,  and  in  a  moment  taught  her 
many  things,  though  among  them  was  no  distrust 
of  him.  Brought  to  bay,  she  put  out  her  hand  and 
found  a  gate ;  pushed  it  open,  and  entered  upon  her 
heritage  of  art. 

The  change  was  so  sudden  that  those  who  had  stared 
at  her  sourly  or  scornfully,  or  with  malicious  amuse 
ment  or  some  stirrings  of  pity,  drew  their  breath  and 
gave  ground  a  little.  Where  was  the  shrinking,  fright 
ened,  unbidden  guest  of  a  moment  before,  with  down 
cast  eyes  and  burning  cheeks  ?  Here  was  a  proud  and 
easy  and  radiant  lady,  with  witching  eyes  and  a  won 
derful  smile.  "  I  am  only  Audrey,  your  Excellency," 
she  said,  and  curtsied  as  she  spoke.  "  My  other  name 
lies  buried  in  a  valley  amongst  far-off  mountains." 
She  slightly  turned,  and  addressed  herself  to  a  portly, 
velvet-clad  gentleman,  of  a  very  authoritative  air,  who, 
arriving  late,  had  just  shouldered  himself  into  the 
group  about  his  Excellency.  "  By  token,"  she  smiled, 
"  of  a  gold  moidore  that  was  paid  for  a  loaf  of  bread." 

The  new  Governor  appealed  to  his  predecessor. 
"  What  is  this,  Colonel  Spotswood,  what  is  this  ?  "  he 
demanded,  somewhat  testily,  of  the  open-mouthed  gen 
tleman  in  velvet. 


276  AUDREY 

"  Odso !  "  cried  the  latter.  "  T  is  the  little  maid  of 
the  sugar-tree !  —  Marmaduke  Haward's  brown  elf 
grown  into  the  queen  of  all  the  fairies  ! "  Crossing 
to  Audrey  he  took  her  by  the  hand.  "  My  dear  child," 
he  said,  with  a  benevolence  that  sat  well  upon  him,  "  I 
always  meant  to  keep  an  eye  upon  thee,  to  see  that 
Mr.  Haward  did  by  thee  all  that  he  swore  he  would 
do.  But  at  first  there  were  cares  of  state,  and  now 
for  five  years  I  have  lived  at  Germanna,  half  way  to 
thy  mountains,  where  echoes  from  the  world  seldom 
reach  me.  Permit  me,  my  dear."  With  a  somewhat 
cumbrous  gallantry,  the  innocent  gentleman,  who  had 
just  come  to  town  and  knew  not  the  gossip  thereof, 
bent  and  kissed  her  upon  the  cheek. 

Audrey  curtsied  with  a  bright  face  to  her  old  ac 
quaintance  of  the  valley  and  the  long  road  thence  to 
the  settled  country.  "I  have  been  cared  for,  sir," 
she  said.  "  You  see  that  I  am  happy." 

She  turned  to  Haward,  and  he  drew  her  hand  within 
his  arm.  "  Ay,  child,"  he  said.  "  We  are  keeping 
others  of  the  company  from  their  duty  to  his  Excel 
lency.  Besides,  the  minuet  invites.  I  do  not  think 
I  have  heard  music  so  sweet  before  to-night.  Your 
Excellency's  most  obedient  servant !  Gentlemen,  al 
low  us  to  pass."  The  crowd  opened  before  them,  and 
they  found  themselves  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  Two 
couples  were  walking  a  minuet ;  when  they  were  joined 
by  this  dazzling  third,  the  ladies  bridled,  bit  their  lips, 
and  shot  Parthian  glances. 

It  was  very  fortunate,  thought  Audrey,  that  the 
Widow  Constance  had  once,  long  ago,  taught  her  to 
dance,  and  that,  when  they  were  sent  to  gather  nuts 
or  myrtle  berries  or  fagots  in  the  woods,  she  and  Bar 
bara  were  used  to  taking  hands  beneath  the  trees  and 


THE  UNINVITED  GUEST  277 

moving  with  the  glancing  sunbeams  and  the  nodding 
saplings  and  the  swaying  grapevine  trailers.  She 
that  had  danced  to  the  wind  in  the  pine  tops  could 
move  with  ease  to  the  music  of  this  night.  And  since 
it  was  so  that  with  a  sore  and  frightened  and  breaking 
heart  one  could  yet,  in  some  strange  way,  become  quite 
another  person,  —  any  person  that  one  chose  to  be,  — 
these  cruel  folk  should  not  laugh  at  her  again !  They 
had  not  laughed  since,  before  the  Governor  yonder, 
she  had  suddenly  made  believe  that  she  was  a  care 
free,  great  lady.  Well,  she  would  make  believe  to 
them  still. 

Her  eyes  were  as  brilliant  as  Haward's  that  shone 
with  fever  ;  a  smile  stayed  upon  her  lips  ;  she  moved 
with  dignity  through  the  stately  dance,  scarce  erring 
once,  graceful  and  fine  in  all  that  she  did.  Haward, 
enamored,  his  wits  afire,  went  mechanically  through 
the  oft-trod  measure,  and  swore  to  himself  that  he 
held  in  his  hand  the  pearl  of  price,  the  nonpareil  of 
earth.  In  this  dance  and  under  cover  of  the  music 
they  could  speak  to  each  other  unheard  of  those  about 
them. 

"  4  Queen  of  all  the  fairies,'  did  he  call  you  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  That  was  well  said.  When  we  are  at  Fair 
View  again,  thou  must  show  me  where  thou  wonnest 
with  thy  court,  in  what  moonlit  haunt,  by  what  cool 
streams  "  — 

"  I  would  I  were  this  night  at  Fair  View  glebe 
house,"  said  Audrey.  "  I  would  I  were  at  home  in 
the  mountains." 

Her  voice,  sunken  with  pain  and  longing,  was  for 
him  alone.  To  the  other  dancers,  to  the  crowded 
room  at  large,  she  seemed  a  brazen  girl,  with  beauty 
to  make  a  goddess,  wit  to  mask  as  a  great  lady,  ef- 


278  AUDREY 

frontery  to  match  that  of  the  gentleman  who  had 
brought  her  here.  The  age  was  free,  and  in  that  Lon 
don  which  was  dear  to  the  hearts  of  the  Virginians 
ladies  of  damaged  reputation  were  not  so  unusual  a 
feature  of  fashionable  entertainments  as  to  receive 
any  especial  notice.  But  Williamsburgh  was  not 
London,  and  the  dancer  yonder,  who  held  her  rose- 
crowned  head  so  high,  was  no  lady  of  fashion.  They 
knew  her  now  for  that  dweller  at  Fair  View  gates  of 
whom,  during  the  summer  just  past,  there  had  been 
whispering  enough.  Evidently,  it  was  not  for  naught 
that  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  had  refused  invitations, 
given  no  entertainments,  shut  himself  up  at  Fair  View, 
slighting  old  friends  and  evincing  no  desire  to  make 
new  ones.  Why,  the  girl  was  a  servant,  —  nothing 
more  nor  less ;  she  belonged  to  Gideon  Darden,  the 
drunken  minister  ;  she  was  to  have  married  Jean  Hu- 
gon,  the  half-breed  trader.  Look  how  the  Governor, 
enlightened  at  last,  glowered  at  her ;  and  how  red 
was  Colonel  Spotswood's  face ;  and  how  Mistress 
Evelyn  Byrd,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  a  little  court  of 
her  own,  made  witty  talk,  smiled  upon  her  circle  of 
adorers,  and  never  glanced  toward  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  the  dancers  there  ! 

"  You  are  so  sweet  and  gay  to-night,"  said  Haward 
to  Audrey.  "  Take  your  pleasure,  child,  for  it  is  a 
sad  world,  and  the  blight  will  fall.  I  love  to  see  you 
happy." 

"  Happy  !  "  she  answered.     "  I  am  not  happy !  " 

"  You  are  above  them  all  in  beauty,"  he  went  on. 
"  There  is  not  one  here  that 's  fit  to  tie  your  shoe." 

"Oh  me!"  cried  Audrey.  "There  is  the  lady 
that  you  love,  and  that  loves  you.  Why  did  she  look 
at  me  so,  in  the  hall  yonder  ?  And  yesterday,  when 


THE   UNINVITED  GUEST  279 

she  came  to  Mistress  Stagg's,  I  might  not  touch  her 
or  speak  to  her !  You  told  me  that  she  was  kind  and 
good  and  pitiful.  I  dreamed  that  she  might  let  me 
serve  her  when  she  came  to  Fair  View." 

"  She  will  never  come  to  Fair  View,"  he  said,  "  nor 
shall  I  go  again  to  Westover.  I  am  for  my  own  house 
now,  you  brown  enchantress,  and  my  own  garden,  and 
the  boat  upon  the  river.  Do  you  remember  how  sweet 
were  our  days  in  June?  We  will  live  them  over 
again,  and  there  shall  come  for  us,  besides,  a  fuller 
summer  "  — 

"  It  is  winter  now,"  said  Audrey,  with  a  sobbing 
breath,  "  and  cold  and  dark  !  I  do  not  know  myself, 
and  you  are  strange.  I  beg  you  to  let  me  go  away. 
I  wish  to  wash  off  this  paint,  to  put  on  my  own  gown. 
I  am  no  lady  ;  you  do  wrong  to  keep  me  here.  See, 
all  the  company  are  frowning  at  me  !  The  minister 
will  hear  what  I  have  done  and  be  angry,  and  Mistress 
Deborah  will  beat  me.  I  care  not  for  that,  but  you  — 
Oh,  you  have  gone  far  away,  —  as  far  as  Fair  View, 
as  far  as  the  mountains !  I  am  speaking  to  a. 
stranger  "  — 

In  the  dance  their  raised  hands  met  again.  "  You 
see  me,  you  speak  to  me  at  last,"  he  said  ardently. 
"  That  other,  that  cold  brother  of  the  snows,  that  pala 
din  and  dream  knight  that  you  yourself  made  and 
dubbed  him  me,  —  he  has  gone,  Audrey ;  nay,  he 
never  was !  But  I  myself,  I  am  not  abhorrent  to 
you?" 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  "  it  is  all  dark !  I  cannot 
see  —  I  cannot  understand  "  — 

The  time  allotted  to  minuets  having  elapsed,  the 
musicians  after  a  short  pause  began  to  play  an  an 
cient,  lively  air,  and  a  number  of  ladies  and  gentle- 


280  AUDREY 

men,  young,  gayly  dressed,  and  light  of  heart  as  of 
heels,  engaged  in  a  country  dance.  When  they  were 
joined  by  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  and  his  shameless 
companion,  there  arose  a  great  rustling  and  whisper 
ing.  A  young  girl  in  green  taffeta  was  dancing  alone, 
wreathing  in  and  out  between  the  silken,  gleaming 
couples,  coquetting  with  the  men  by  means  of  fan  and 
eyes,  but  taking  hands  and  moving  a  step  or  two  with 
each  sister  of  the  dance.  When  she  approached  Au 
drey,  the  latter  smiled  and  extended  her  hand,  because 
that  was  the  way  the  lady  nearest  her  had  done.  But 
the  girl  in  green  stared  coldly,  put  her  hand  behind 
her,  and,  with  the  very  faintest  salute  to  Mr.  Marma 
duke  Haward,  danced  on  her  way.  For  one  moment 
the  smile  died  on  Audrey's  lips ;  then  it  came  reso 
lutely  back,  and  she  held  her  head  high. 

The  men,  forming  in  two  rows,  drew  their  rapiers 
with  a  flourish,  and,  crossing  them  overhead,  made 
an  arch  of  steel  under  which  the  women  must  pass. 
Haward's  blade  touched  that  of  an  old  acquaintance. 
"  I  have  been  leaning  upon  the  back  of  a  lady's 
chair,"  said  the  latter  gruffly,  under  cover  of  the 
music  and  the  clashing  steel,  —  "a  lady  dressed  in 
rose  color,  who  's  as  generous  (to  all  save  one  poor 
devil)  as  she  is  fair.  I  promised  her  I  would  take  her 
message ;  the  Lord  knows  I  would  go  to  the  bottom 
of  the  sea  to  give  her  pleasure !  She  says  that  you 
are  not  yourself ;  begs  that  you  will  go  quietly 
away  "  — 

An  exclamation  from  the  man  next  him,  and  a  loud 
murmur  mixed  with  some  laughter  from  those  in  the 
crowded  room  who  were  watching  the  dancers,  caused 
the  gentleman  to  break  off  in  the  middle  of  his  mes 
sage.  He  glanced  over  his  shoulder ;  then,  with  a 


THE  UNINVITED  GUEST  281 

shrug,  turned  to  his  vis-a-vis  in  white  satin.  "  Now 
you  see  that  't  will  not  answer,  —  not  in  Virginia. 
The  women  —  bless  them! — have  a  way  of  cutting 
Gordian  knots." 

A  score  of  ladies,  one  treading  in  the  footsteps  of 
another,  should  have  passed  beneath  the  flashing 
swords.  But  there  had  thrust  itself  into  their  com 
pany  a  plague  spot,  and  the  girl  in  green  taffeta  and 
a  matron  in  silver  brocade,  between  whom  stood  the 
hateful  presence,  indignantly  stepped  out  of  line  and 
declined  to  dance.  The  fear  of  infection  spreading 
like  wildfire,  the  ranks  refused  to  close,  and  the  com 
pany  was  thrown  into  confusion.  Suddenly  the  girl 
in  green,  by  nature  a  leader  of  her  kind,  walked 
away,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  from  the  huddle  of 
those  who  were  uncertain  what  to  do,  and  joined  her 
friends  among  the  spectators,  who  received  her  with 
acclaim.  The  sound  and  her  example  were  warranty 
enough  for  the  cohort  she  had  quitted.  A  moment, 
and  it  was  in  virtuous  retreat,  and  the  dance  was  bro 
ken  up. 

The  gentlemen,  who  saw  themselves  summarily  de 
serted,  abruptly  lowered  their  swords.  One  laughed ; 
another,  flown  with  wine,  gave  utterance  to  some 
coarse  pleasantry ;  a  third  called  to  the  musicians  to 
stop  the  music.  Darden's  Audrey  stood  alone,  brave 
in  her  beautiful  borrowed  dress  and  the  color  that 
could  not  leave  her  cheeks.  But  her  lips  had  whitened, 
the  smile  was  gone,  and  her  eyes  were  like  those  of 
a  hunted  deer.  She  looked  mutely  about  her:  how 
could  she  understand,  who  trusted  so  completely,  who 
lived  in  a  labyrinth  without  a  clue,  who  had  built  her 
dream  world  so  securely  that  she  had  left  no  way  of 
egress  for  herself?  These  were  cruel  people!  She 


282  AUDREY 

was  mad  to  get  away,  to  tear  off  this  strange  dress,  to 
fling  herself  down  in  the  darkness,  in  the  woods,  hiding 
her  face  against  the  earth !  But  though  she  was  only 
Audrey  and  so  poor  a  thing,  she  had  for  her  portion 
a  dignity  and  fineness  of  nature  that  was  a  stay  to  her 
steps.  Barbara,  though  not  so  poor  and  humble  a 
maid,  might  have  burst  into  tears,  and  run  crying 
from  the  room  and  the  house  ;  but  to  do  that  Audrey 
would  have  been  ashamed. 

"  It  was  you,  Mr.  Corbin,  that  laughed,  I  think  ?  " 
said  Haward.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  send  to  know  the 
reason  of  your  mirth.  Mr.  Everard,  you  will  answer 
to  me  for  that  pretty  oath.  Mr.  Travis,  there  rests 
the  lie  that  you  uttered  just  now :  stoop  and  take  it 
again."  He  flung  his  glove  at  Mr.  Travis's  feet. 

A  great  hubbub  and  exclamation  arose.  Mr.  Travis 
lifted  the  glove  with  the  point  of  his  rapier,  and  in  a 
loud  voice  repeated  the  assertion  which  had  given  um 
brage  to  Mr.  Haward  of  Fair  View.  That  gentleman 
sprang  unsteadily  forward,  and  the  blades  of  the  two 
crossed  in  dead  earnest.  A  moment,  and  the  men  were 
forced  apart ;  but  by  this  time  the  whole  room  was  in 
commotion.  The  musicians  craned  their  necks  over 
the  gallery  rail,  a  woman  screamed,  and  half  a  dozen 
gentlemen  of  years  and  authority  started  from  the 
crowd  of  witnesses  to  the  affair  and  made  toward  the 
centre  of  the  room,  with  an  eye  to  preventing  further 
trouble.  Where  much  wine  had  been  drunken  and 
twenty  rapiers  were  out,  matters  might  go  from  bad 
to  worse. 

Another  was  before  them.  A  lady  in  rose  color  had 
risen  from  her  chair  and  glided  across  the  polished 
floor  to  the  spot  where  trouble  was  brewing.  "  Gen 
tlemen,  for  shame !  "  she  cried.  Her  voice  was  bell- 


THE  UNINVITED  GUEST  283 

like  in  its  clear  sweetness,  final  in  its  grave  rebuke 
and  its  recall  to  sense  and  decency.  She  was  Mistress 
Evelyn  Byrd,  who  held  sovereignty  in  Virginia,  and 
at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the  command  of  her  raised 
hand,  the  clamor  suddenly  ceased,  and  the  angry  group, 
parting,  fell  back  as  from  the  presence  of  its  veritable 
queen. 

Evelyn  went  up  to  Audrey  and  took  her  by  the 
hand.  "I  am  not  tired  of  dancing,  as  were  those 
ladies  who  have  left  us,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  and 
in  a  sweet  and  friendly  voice.  "  See,  the  gentlemen 
are  waiting !  Let  us  finish  out  this  measure,  you  and 
me." 

At  her  gesture  of  command  the  lines  that  had  so 
summarily  broken  re-formed.  Back  into  the  old  air 
swung  the  musicians;  up  went  the  swords,  crossing 
overhead  with  a  ringing  sound,  and  beneath  the  long 
arch  of  protecting  steel  moved  to  the  music  the  two 
women,  the  dark  beauty  and  the  fair,  the  princess  and 
the  herdgirl.  Evelyn  led,  and  Audrey,  following,  knew 
that  now  indeed  she  was  walking  in  a  dream. 

A  very  few  moments,  and  the  measure  was  finished. 
A  smile,  a  curtsy,  a  wave  of  Evelyn's  hand,  and  the 
dancers,  disbanding,  left  the  floor.  Mr.  Corbin,  Mr. 
Everard,  and  Mr.  Travis,  each  had  a  word  to  say  to 
Mr.  Haward  of  Fair  View,  as  they  passed  that  gentle 
man. 

Haward  heard,  and  answered  to  the  point ;  but  when 
presently  Evelyn  said,  "  Let  us  go  into  the  garden," 
and  he  found  himself  moving  with  her  and  with  Au 
drey  through  the  buzzing,  staring  crowd  toward  the 
door  of  the  Governor's  house,  he  thought  that  it  was 
into  Fair  View  garden  they  were  about  to  descend. 
And  when  they  came  out  upon  the  broad,  torohlit 


284  AUDREY 

walk,  and  he  saw  gay  parties  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
straying  here  and  there  beneath  the  trees,  he  thought 
it  strange  that  he  had  forgotten  that  he  had  guests 
this  night.  As  for  the  sound  of  the  river  below  his 
terrace,  he  had  never  heard  so  loud  a  murmur.  It 
grew  and  filled  the  night,  making  thin  and  far  away 
the  voices  of  his  guests. 

There  was  a  coach  at  the  gates,  and  Mr.  Grymes, 
who  awhile  ago  had  told  him  that  he  had  a  message  to 
deliver,  was  at  the  coach  door.  Evelyn  had  her  hand 
upon  his  arm,  and  her  voice  was  speaking  to  him  from 
as  far  away  as  across  the  river.  "  I  am  leaving  the 
ball,"  it  said,  "  and  I  will  take  the  girl  in  my  coach  to 
the  place  where  she  is  staying.  Promise  me  that  you 
will  not  go  back  to  the  house  yonder ;  promise  me  that 
you  will  go  away  with  Mr.  Grymes,  who  is  also  weary 
of  the  ball  "  — 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Grymes  lightly,  "  Mr.  Haward 
agrees  with  me  that  Marot's  best  room,  cool  and  quiet, 
a  bottle  of  Burgundy,  and  a  hand  at  piquet  are  more 
alluring  than  the  heat  and  babel  we  have  left.  We 
are  going  at  once,  Mistress  Evelyn.  Haward,  I  pro 
pose  that  on  our  way  to  Marot's  we  knock  up  Dr.  Con- 
tesse,  and  make  him  free  of  our  company." 

As  he  spoke,  he  handed  into  the  coach  the  lady  in 
flowered  damask,  who  had  held  up  her  head,  but  said 
no  word,  and  the  lady  in  rose-colored  brocade,  who, 
through  the  length  of  the  ballroom  and  the  hall  and 
the  broad  walk  where  people  passed  and  repassed,  had 
kept  her  hand  in  Audrey's,  and  had  talked,  easily  and 
with  smiles,  to  the  two  attending  gentlemen.  He  shut 
to  the  coach  door,  and  drew  back,  with  a  low  bow, 
when  Haward's  deeply  flushed,  handsome  face  ap 
peared  for  a  moment  at  the  lowered  glass. 


THE  UNINVITED  GUEST  285 

"  Art  away  to  Westover,  Evelyn  ? "  he  asked. 
"Then't  is  'Good-by,  sweetheart!'  for  I  shall  not 
go  to  Westover  again.  But  you  have  a  fair  road  to 
travel,  —  there  are  violets  by  the  wayside  ;  for  it  is 
May  Day,  you  know,  and  the  woods  are  white  with 
dogwood  and  purple  with  the  Judas-tree.  The  violets 
are  for  you;  but  the  great  white  blossoms,  and  the 
boughs  of  rosy  mist,  and  all  the  trees  that  wave  in  the 
wind  are  for  Audrey."  His  eyes  passed  the  woman 
whom  he  would  have  wed,  and  rested  upon  her  com 
panion  in  the  coach.  "  Thou  fair  dryad  !  "  he  said. 
"Two  days  hence  we  will  keep  tryst  beneath  the 
beech-tree  in  the  woods  beyond  the  glebe  house." 

The  man  beside  him  put  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
and  plucked  him  back,  nor  would  look  at  Evelyn's 
drawn  and  whitened  face,  but  called  to  the  coachman 
to  go  on.  The  black  horses  put  themselves  into  mo 
tion,  the  equipage  made  a  wide  turn,  and  the  lights  of 
the  Palace  were  left  behind. 

Evelyn  lodged  in  a  house  upon  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  but  from  the  Palace  to  Mistress  Stagg's  was 
hardly  more  than  a  stone's  throw.  Not  until  the  coach 
was  drawing  near  the  small  white  house  did  either  of 
the  women  speak.  Then  Audrey  broke  into  an  inar 
ticulate  murmur,  and  stooping  would  have  pressed  her 
cheek  against  the  hand  that  had  clasped  hers  only  a 
little  while  before.  But  Evelyn  snatched  her  hand 
away,  and  with  a  gesture  of  passionate  repulsion  shrank 
into  her  corner  of  the  coach.  "  Oh,  how  dare  you 
touch  me!"  she  cried.  "How  dare  you  look  at  me, 
you  serpent  that  have  stung  me  so  !  "  Able  to  endure 
no  longer,  she  suddenly  gave  way  to  angry  laughter. 
"  Do  you  think  I  did  it  for  you,  —  put  such  humilia 
tion  upon  myself  for  you  ?  Why,  you  wanton,  I  care 


286  AUDREY 

not  if  you  stand  in  white  at  every  church  door  in  Vir 
ginia  !  It  was  for  him,  for  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward 
of  Fair  View,  for  whose  name  and  fame,  if  he  cares 
not  for  them  himself,  his  friends  have  yet  some  care !  " 
The  coach  stopped,  and  the  footman  opened  the  door. 
"  Descend,  if  you  please,"  went  on  Evelyn  clearly  and 
coldly.  "You  have  had  your  triumph.  I  say  not 
there  is  no  excuse  for  him,  —  you  are  very  beautiful. 
Good-night." 

Audrey  stood  between  the  lilac  bushes  and  watched 
the  coach  turn  from  Palace  into  Duke  of  Gloucester 
Street;  then  went  and  knocked  at  the  green  door. 
It  was  opened  by  Mistress  Stagg  in  person,  who  drew 
her  into  the  parlor,  where  the  good-natured  woman 
had  been  sitting  all  alone,  and  in  increasing  alarm  as 
to  what  might  be  the  outcome  of  this  whim  of  Mr. 
Marmaduke  Haward's.  Now  she  was  full  of  inquiries, 
ready  to  admire  and  to  nod  approval,  or  to  shake  her 
head  and  cry,  "  I  told  you  so !  "  according  to  the  turn 
of  the  girl's  recital. 

But  Audrey  had  little  to  say,  little  to  tell.  Yes, 
oh  yes,  it  had  been  a  very  grand  sight.  .  .  .  Yes,  Mr. 
Haward  was  kind ;  he  had  always  been  kind  to  her. 
.  .  .  She  had  come  home  with  Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd 
in  her  coach.  .  .  .  Might  she  go  now  to  her  room? 
She  would  fold  the  dress  very  carefully. 

Mistress  Stagg  let  her  go,  for  indeed  there  was  no 
purpose  to  be  served  in  keeping  her,  seeing  that  the 
girl  was  clearly  dazed,  spoke  without  knowing  what 
she  said}  and  stood  astare  like  one  of  Mrs.  Salmon's 
beautiful  wax  ladies.  She  would  hear  all  about  it  in 
the  morning,  when  the  child  had  slept  off  her  excite 
ment.  They  at  the  Palace  could  n't  have  taken  her 
presence  much  amiss,  or  she  would  never  in  the  world 
have  come  home  in  the  Westover  coach. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AUDREY    AWAKES 

THERE  had  lately  come  to  Virginia,  and  to  the  con 
vention  of  its  clergy  at  Williamsburgh,  one  Mr.  Eliot, 
a  minister  after  the  heart  of  a  large  number  of  sober 
and  godly  men  whose  reputation  as  a  body  suffered  at 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Darden,  of  Fair  View  parish,  Mr. 
Bailey,  of  Newport,  Mr.  Worden,  of  Lawn's  Creek, 
and  a  few  kindred  spirits.  Certainly  Mr.  Eliot  was 
not  like  these ;  so  erect,  indeed,  did  he  hold  himself 
in  the  strait  and  narrow  path  that  his  most  admiring 
brethren,  being,  as  became  good  Virginians,  somewhat 
easy-going  in  their  saintliness,  were  inclined  to  think 
that  he  leaned  too  far  the  other  way.  It  was  com 
mendable  to  hate  sin  and  reprove  the  sinner;  but 
when  it  came  to  raining  condemnation  upon  horse- 
racing,  dancing,  Cato  at  the  playhouse,  and  like  inno 
cent  diversions,  Mr.  Eliot  was  surely  somewhat  out  of 
bounds.  The  most  part  accounted  for  his  turn  of 
mind  by  the  fact  that  ere  he  came  to  Virginia  he  had 
been  a  sojourner  in  New  England. 

He  was  mighty  in  the  pulpit,  was  Mr.  Eliot ;  no 
droning  reader  of  last  year's  sermons,  but  a  thunderer 
forth  of  speech  that  was  now  acrid,  now  fiery,  but  that 
always  came  from  an  impassioned  nature,  vehement 
for  the  damnation  of  those  whom  God  so  strangely 
spared.  When,  as  had  perforce  happened  during  the 


288  AUDREY 

past  week,  he  must  sit  with  his  brethren  in  the  con 
gregation  and  listen  to  lukewarm  —  nay,  to  dead  and 
cold  adjurations  and  expoundings,  his  very  soul  itched 
to  mount  the  pulpit  stairs,  thrust  down  the  Laodicean 
that  chanced  to  occupy  it,  and  himself  awaken  as  with 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet  this  people  who  slept  upon  the 
verge  of  a  precipice,  between  hell  that  gaped  below 
and  God  who  sat  on  high,  serenely  regardful  of  his 
creatures'  plight.  Though  so  short  a  time  in  Vir 
ginia,  he  was  already  become  a  man  of  note,  the  pro 
phet  not  without  honor,  whom  it  was  the  fashion  to 
admire,  if  not  to  follow.  It  was  therefore  natural 
enough  that  the  Commissary,  himself  a  man  of  plain 
speech  from  the  pulpit,  should  appoint  him  to  preach 
in  Bruton  church  this  Sunday  morning,  before  his 
Excellency  the  Governor,  the  worshipful  the  Council, 
the  clergy  in  convention,  and  as  much  of  Williams- 
burgh,  gentle  and  simple,  as  could  crowd  into  the 
church.  Mr.  Eliot  took  the  compliment  as  an  answer 
to  prayer,  and  chose  for  his  text  Daniel  fifth  and 
twenty-seventh. 

Lodging  as  he  did  on  Palace  Street,  the  early  hours 
of  the  past  night,  which  he  would  have  given  to  prayer 
and  meditation,  had  been  profaned  by  strains  of  music 
from  the  Governor's  house,  by  laughter  and  swearing 
and  much  going  to  and  fro  in  the  street  beneath  his 
window.  These  disturbances  filling  him  with  right 
eous  wrath,  he  came  down  to  his  breakfast  next  morn 
ing  prepared  to  give  his  hostess,  who  kept  him  com 
pany  at  table,  line  and  verse  which  should  demonstrate 
that  Jehovah  shared  his  anger. 

"  Ay,  sir !  "  she  cried.  "  And  if  that  were  all,  sir  " 
—  and  straightway  she  embarked  upon  a  colored  nar 
ration  of  the  occurrence  at  the  Governor's  ball.  This 


AUDREY  AWAKES    .  289 

was  followed  by  a  wonderfully  circumstantial  account 
of  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward's  sins  of  omission  against 
old  and  new  acquaintances  who  would  have  entertained 
him  at  their  houses,  and  been  entertained  in  turn  at 
Fair  View,  and  by  as  detailed  a  description  of  the 
toils  that  had  been  laid  for  him  by  that  audacious 
piece  who  had  forced  herself  upon  the  company  last 
night. 

Mr.  Eliot  listened  aghast,  and  mentally  amended 
his  sermon.  If  he  knew  Virginia,  even  so  flagrant  a 
case  as  this  might  never  come  before  a  vestry.  Should 
this  woman  go  unreproved  ?  When  in  due  time  he 
was  in  the  church,  and  the  congregation  was  gather 
ing,  he  beckoned  to  him  one  of  the  sidesmen,  asked  a 
question,  and  when  it  was  answered,  looked  fixedly  at 
a  dark  girl  sitting  far  away  in  a  pew  beneath  the 
gallery. 

It  was  a  fine,  sunny  morning,  with  a  tang  of  autumn 
in  the  air,  and  the  concourse  within  the  church  was 
very  great.  The  clergy  showed  like  a  wedge  of  black 
driven  into  the  bright  colors  with  which  nave  and 
transept  overflowed.  His  Excellency  the  Governor 
sat  in  state,  with  the  Council  on  either  hand.  One 
member  of  that  body  was  not  present.  Well-nigh  all 
Williamsburgh  knew  by  now  that  Mr.  Marmaduke 
Haward  lay  at  Marot's  ordinary,  ill  of  a  raging  fever. 
Hooped  petticoat  and  fragrant  bodice  found  reason 
for  whispering  to  laced  coat  and  periwig  ;  significant 
glances  traveled  from  every  quarter  of  the  building 
toward  the  tall  pew  where,  collected  but  somewhat 
palely  smiling,  sat  Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd  beside  her 
father.  All  this  was  before  the  sermon.  When  the 
minister  of  the  day  mounted  the  pulpit,  and,  gaunt 
against  the  great  black  sounding-board,  gave  out  his 


290  AUDREY 

text  in  a  solemn  and  ringing  voice,  such  was  the 
genuine  power  of  the  man  that  every  face  was  turned 
toward  him,  and  throughout  the  building  there  fell  a 
sudden  hush. 

Audrey  looked  with  the  rest,  but  she  could  not 
have  said  that  she  listened,  —  not  at  first.  She  was 
there  because  she  always  went  to  church  on  Sunday. 
It  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  ask  that  she  might  stay 
at  home.  She  had  come  from  her  room  that  morning 
with  the  same  still  face,  the  same  strained  and  startled 
look  about  the  eyes,  that  she  had  carried  to  it  the 
night  before.  Black  Peggy,  who  found  her  bed  un- 
slept  in,  thought  that  she  must  have  sat  the  night 
through  beside  the  window.  Mistress  Stagg,  meeting 
her  at  the  stairfoot  with  the  tidings  (just  gathered 
from  the  lips  of  a  passer-by)  of  Mr.  Ha  ward's  illness, 
thought  that  the  girl  took  the  news  very  quietly.  She 
made  no  exclamation,  said  nothing  good  or  bad ;  only 
drew  her  hand  across  her  brow  and  eyes,  as  though 
she  strove  to  thrust  away  a  veil  or  mist  that  troubled 
her.  This  gesture  she  repeated  now  and  again  during 
the  hour  before  church  time.  Mistress  Stagg  heard 
no  more  of  the  ball  this  morning  than  she  had  heard 
the  night  before.  Something  ailed  the  girl.  She  was 
not  sullen,  but  she  could  not  or  would  not  talk.  Per 
haps,  despite  the  fact  of  the  Westover  coach,  she  had 
not  been  kindly  used  at  the  Palace.  The  ex-actress 
pursed  her  lips,  and  confided  to  her  Mirabell  that 
times  were  not  what  they  once  were.  Had  she  not, 
at  Bath,  been  given  a  ticket  to  the  Saturday  ball  by 
my  Lord  Squander  himself  ?  Ay,  and  she  had  footed 
it,  too,  in  the  country  dance,  with  the  best  of  them, 
with  captains  and  French  counts  and  gentlemen  and 
ladies  of  title,  —  ay,  and  had  gone  down  the  middle 


AUDREY  AWAKES  291 

with  the  very  pattern  of  Sir  Harry  Wildair !  To  be 
sure,  no  one  had  ever  breathed  a  word  against  her 
character;  but,  for  her  part,  she  believed  no  great 
harm  of  Audrey,  either.  Look  at  the  girl's  eyes,  now : 
they  were  like  a  child's  or  a  saint's. 

Mirabell  nodded  and  looked  wise,  but  said  nothing. 

When  the  church  bells  rang  Audrey  was  ready, 
and  she  walked  to  church  with  Mistress  Stagg  much 
as,  the  night  before,  she  had  walked  between  the  lilacs 
to  the  green  door  when  the  Westover  coach  had  passed 
from  her  sight.  Now  she  sat  in  the  church  much  as 
she  had  sat  at  the  window  the  night  through.  She  did 
not  know  that  people  were  staring  at  her ;  nor  had 
she  caught  the  venomous  glance  of  Mistress  Deborah, 
already  in  the  pew,  and  aware  of  more  than  had  come 
to  her  friend's  ears. 

Audrey  was  not  listening,  was  scarcely  thinking. 
Her  hands  were  crossed  in  her  lap,  and  now  and  then 
she  raised  one  and  made  the  motion  of  pushing  aside 
from  her  eyes  something  heavy  that  clung  and  blinded. 
What  part  of  her  spirit  that  was  not  wholly  darkened 
and  folded  within  itself  was  back  in  the  mountains  of 
her  childhood,  with  those  of  her  own  blood  whom  she 
had  loved  and  lost.  What  use  to  try  to  understand 
to-day,  —  to-day  with  its  falling  skies,  its  bewildered 
pondering  over  the  words  that  were  said  to  her  last 
night  ?  And  the  morrow,  —  she  must  leave  that. 
Perhaps  when  it  should  dawn  he  would  come  to  her, 
and  call  her  "  little  maid,"  and  laugh  at  her  dreadful 
dream.  But  now,  while  it  was  to-day,  she  could  not 
think  of  him  without  an  agony  of  pain  and  bewilder 
ment.  He  was  ill,  too,  and  suffering.  Oh,  she  must 
leave  the  thought  of  him  alone  !  Back  then  to  the 
long  yesterdays  she  traveled,  and  played  quietly, 


292  AUDREY 

dreamily,  with  Robin  on  the  green  grass  beside  the 
shining  stream,  or  sat  on  the  doorstep,  her  head  on 
Molly's  lap,  and  watched  the  evening  star  behind  the 
Endless  Mountains. 

It  was  very  quiet  in  the  church  save  for  that  one 
great  voice  speaking.  Little  by  little  the  voice  im 
pressed  itself  upon  her  consciousness.  The  eyes  of 
her  mind  were  upon  long  ranges  of  mountains  distinct 
against  the  splendor  of  a  sunset  sky.  Last  seen  in 
childhood,  viewed  now  through  the  illusion  of  the 
years,  the  mountains  were  vastly  higher  than  nature 
had  planned  them ;  the  streamers  of  light  shot  to  the 
zenith ;  the  black  forests  were  still ;  everywhere  a 
fixed  glory,  a  gigantic  silence,  a  holding  of  the  breath 
for  things  to  happen. 

By  degrees  the  voice  in  her  ears  fitted  in  with  the 
landscape,  became,  so  solemn  and  ringing  it  was,  like 
the  voice  of  the  archangel  of  that  sunset  land.  Au 
drey  listened  at  last;  and  suddenly  the  mountains 
were  gone,  and  the  light  from  the  sky,  and  her  people 
were  dead  and  dust  away  in  that  hidden  valley,  and 
she  was  sitting  in  the  church  at  Williamsburgh,  alone, 
without  a  friend. 

What  was  the  preacher  saying  ?  What  ball  of  the 
night  before  was  he  describing  with  bitter  power,  the 
while  he  gave  warning  of  handwriting  upon  the  wall 
such  as  had  menaced  Belshazzar's  feast  of  old  ?  Of 
what  shameless  girl  was  he  telling,  —  what  creature 
dressed  in  silks  that  should  have  gone  in  rags,  brought 
to  that  ball  by  her  paramour  — 

The  gaunt  figure  in  the  pulpit  trembled  like  a  leaf 
with  the  passion  of  the  preacher's  convictions  and  the 
energy  of  his  utterance.  On  had  gone  the  stream  of 
rhetoric,  the  denunciations,  the  satire,  the  tremendous 


AUDREY  AWAKES  293 

assertions  of  God's  mind  and  purposes.  The  lash 
that  was  wielded  was  far-reaching ;  all  the  vices  of 
the  age  —  irreligion,  blasphemy,  drunkenness,  extrava 
gance,  vainglory,  loose  living  —  fell  under  its  sting. 
The  condemnation  was  general,  and  each  man  looked 
to  see  his  neighbor  wince.  The  occurrence  at  the  ball 
last  night,  —  he  was  on  that  for  final  theme,  was  he  ? 
There  was  a  slight  movement  throughout  the  congre 
gation.  Some  glanced  to  where  would  have  sat  Mr. 
Marmaduke  Haward,  had  not  the  gentleman  been  at 
present  in  his  bed,  raving  now  of  a  great  run  of  luck 
at  the  Cocoa  Tree  ;  now  of  an  Indian  who,  with  his 
knee  upon  his  breast,  was  throttling  him  to  death. 
Others  looked  over  their  shoulders  to  see  if  that  gypsy 
yet  sat  beneath  the  gallery.  Colonel  Byrd  took  out 
his  snuffbox  and  studied  the  picture  on  the  lid,  while 
his  daughter  sat  like  a  carven  lady,  with  a  slight  smile 
upon  her  lips. 

On  went  the  word  picture  that  showed  how  vice 
could  flaunt  it  in  so  fallen  an  age.  The  preacher 
spared  not  plain  words,  squarely  turned  himself  toward 
the  gallery,  pointed  out  with  voice  and  hand  the  ob 
ject  of  his  censure  and  of  God's  wrath.  Had  the  law 
pilloried  the  girl  before  them  all,  it  had  been  but  lit 
tle  worse  for  her.  She  sat  like  a  statue,  staring  with 
wide  eyes  at  the  window  above  the  altar.  This,  then, 
was  what  the  words  in  the  coach  last  night  had  meant 
—  this  was  what  the  princess  thought  —  this  was  what 
his  world  thought  — 

There  arose  a  commotion  in  the  ranks  of  the  clergy 
of  Virginia.  The  Reverend  Gideon  Darden,  quitting 
with  an  oath  the  company  of  his  brethren,  came  down 
the  aisle,  and,  pushing  past  his  wife,  took  his  stand  in 
the  pew  beside  the  orphan  who  had  lived  beneath  his 


294  AUDREY 

roof,  whom  during  many  years  he  had  cursed  upon 
occasion  and  sometimes  struck,  and  whom  he  had  lat 
terly  made  his  tool.  "  Never  mind  him,  Audrey,  my 
girl,"  he  said,  and  put  an  unsteady  hand  upon  her 
shoulder.  "  You  're  a  good  child  ;  they  cannot  harm 

ye." 

He  turned  his  great  shambling  body  and  heavy  face 
toward  the  preacher,  stemmed  in  the  full  tide  of  his 
eloquence  by  this  unseemly  interruption.  "  Ye  beg 
garly  Scot !  "  he  exclaimed  thickly.  "  Ye  evil-think 
ing  saint  from  Salem  way,  that  know  the  very  lining 
of  the  Lord's  mind,  and  yet,  walking  through  his 
earth,  see  but  a  poisonous  weed  in  his  every  harmless 
flower  !  Shame  on  you  to  beat  down  the  flower  that 
never  did  you  harm  !  The  girl 's  as  innocent  a  thing 
as  lives  !  Ay,  I  Ve  had  my  dram,  —  the  more  shame 
to  you  that  are  justly  rebuked  out  of  the  mouth  of  a 
drunken  man  !  I  have  done,  Mr.  Commissary,"  ad 
dressing  himself  to  that  dignitary,  who  had  advanced 
to  the  altar  rail  with  his  arm  raised  in  a  command  for 
silence.  "  I  've  no  child  of  my  own,  thank  God  !  but 
the  maid  has  grown  up  in  my  house,  and  I  '11  not  sit 
to  hear  her  belied.  I  've  heard  of  last  night :  't  was 
the  mad  whim  of  a  sick  man.  The  girl 's  as  guiltless 
of  wrong  as  any  lady  here.  I,  Gideon  Darden,  vouch 
for  it ! " 

He  sat  heavily  down  beside  Audrey,  who  never 
stirred  from  her  still  regard  of  that  high  window. 
There  was  a  moment  of  portentous  silence ;  then, 
"  Let  us  pray,"  said  the  minister  from  the  pulpit. 

Audrey  knelt  with  the  rest,  but  she  did  not  pray. 
And  when  it  was  all  over,  and  the  benediction  had 
been  given,  and  she  found  herself  without  the  church, 
she  looked  at  the  green  trees  against  the  clear  autum- 


AUDREY  AWAKES  295 

nal  skies  and  at  the  graves  in  the  churchyard  as  though 
it  were  a  new  world  into  which  she  had  stepped.  She 
could  not  have  said  that  she  found  it  fair.  Her  place 
had  been  so  near  the  door  that  well-nigh  all  the  con 
gregation  was  behind  her,  streaming  out  of  the  church, 
eager  to  reach  the  open  air,  where  it  might  discuss 
the  sermon,  the  futile  and  scandalous  interruption  by 
the  notorious  Mr.  Darden,  and  what  Mr.  Marmaduke 
Haward  might  have  said  or  done  had  he  been  present. 

Only  Mistress  Stagg  kept  beside  her ;  for  Mistress 
Deborah  hung  back,  unwilling  to  be  seen  in  her  com 
pany,  and  Darden,  from  that  momentary  awakening 
of  his  better  nature,  had  sunk  to  himself  again,  and 
thought  not  how  else  he  might  aid  this  wounded  mem 
ber  of  his  household.  But  Mary  Stagg  was  a  kindly 
soul,  whose  heart  had  led  her  comfortably  through 
life  with  very  little  appeal  to  her  head.  The  two  or 
three  young  women  —  Oldfields  and  Porters  of  the 
Virginian  stage  —  who  were  under  indentures  to  her 
husband  and  herself  found  her  as  much  their  friend 
as  mistress.  Their  triumphs  in  the  petty  playhouse 
of  this  town  of  a  thousand  souls  were  hers,  and  what 
woes  they  had  came  quickly  to  her  ears.  Now  she 
would  have  slipped  her  hand  into  Audrey's  and 
have  given  garrulous  comfort,  as  the  two  passed  alone 
through  the  churchyard  gate  and  took  their  way  up 
Palace  Street  toward  the  small  white  house.  But 
Audrey  gave  not  her  hand,  did  not  answer,  made  no 
moan,  neither  justified  herself  nor  blamed  another. 
She  did  not  speak  at  all,  but  after  the  first  glance 
about  her  moved  like  a  sleepwalker. 

When  the  house  was  reached  she  went  up  to  the 
bedroom.  Mistress  Deborah,  entering  stormily  ten 
minutes  later,  found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  strange 


296  AUDREY 

Audrey,  who,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
raised  her  hand  for  silence  in  a  gesture  so  command 
ing  that  the  virago  stayed  her  tirade,  and  stood  open- 
mouthed. 

"  I  wish  to  speak,"  said  the  new  Audrey.  "  I  was 
waiting  for  you.  There  's  a  question  I  wish  to  ask, 
and  I  '11  ask  it  of  you  who  were  never  kind  to  me." 

"Never  kind  to  her!  "  cried  the  minister's  wife  to 
the  four  walls.  "  And  she 's  been  taught,  and  pam 
pered,  and  treated  more  like  a  daughter  than  the 
beggar  wench  she  is  !  And  this  is  my  return,  —  to  sit 
by  her  in  church  to-day,  and  have  all  Virginia  think 
her  belonging  to  me  "  — 

"  I  belong  to  no  one,"  said  Audrey.  "  Even  God 
does  not  want  me.  Be  quiet  until  I  have  done."  She 
made  again  the  gesture  of  pushing  aside  from  face  and 
eyes  the  mist  that  clung  and  blinded.  "  I  know  now 
what  they  say,"  she  went  on.  "  The  preacher  told  me 
awhile  ago.  Last  night  a  lady  spoke  to  me  :  now  1 
know  what  was  her  meaning.  Because  Mr.  Haward, 
who  saved  my  life,  who  brought  me  from  the  moun 
tains,  who  left  me,  when  he  sailed  away,  where  he 
thought  I  would  be  happy,  was  kind  to  me  when 
he  came  again  after  so  many  years ;  because  he  has 
often  been  to  the  glebe  house,  and  I  to  Fair  View ; 
because  last  night  he  would  have  me  go  with  him  to 
the  Governor's  ball,  they  think  —  they  say  out  loud 
for  all  the  people  to  hear  —  that  I  —  that  I  am  like 
Joan,  who  was  whipped  last  month  at  the  Court  House. 
But  it  is  not  of  the  lies  they  tell  that  I  wish  to 
speak." 

Her  hand  went  again  to  her  forehead,  then  dropped 
at  her  side.  A  look  of  fear  and  of  piteous  appeal 
came  into  her  face.  "  The  witch  said  that  I  dreamed, 


AUDREY  AWAKES  297 

and  that  it  was  not  well  for  dreamers  to  awaken." 
Suddenly  the  quiet  of  her  voice  and  bearing  was 
broken.  With  a  cry,  she  hurried  across  the  room, 
and,  kneeling,  caught  at  the  other's  gown.  "  Ah ! 
that  is  no  dream,  is  it?  No  dream  that  he  is  my 
friend,  only  my  friend  who  has  always  been  sorry  for 
me,  has  always  helped  me !  He  is  the  noblest  gentle 
man,  the  truest,  the  best  —  he  loves  the  lady  at  West- 
over  —  they  are  to  be  married  —  he  never  knew  what 
people  were  saying  —  he  was  not  himself  when  he 
spoke  to  me  so  last  night "  —  Her  eyes  appealed  to 
the  face  above  her.  "  I  could  never  have  dreamed  all 
this,"  she  said.  "  Tell  me  that  I  was  awake  !  " 

The  minister's  wife  looked  down  upon  her  with  a 
bitter  smile.  "  So  you  've  had  your  fool's  paradise  ? 
Well,  once  I  had  mine,  though 't  was  not  your  kind. 
'T  is  a  pretty  country,  Audrey,  but  it 's  not  long  be 
fore  they  turn  you  out."  She  laughed  somewhat 
drearily,  then  in  a  moment  turned  shrew  again.  "  He 
never  knew  what  people  were  saying  ? "  she  cried. 
"  You  little  fool,  do  you  suppose  he  cared  ?  'T  was 
you  that  played  your  cards  all  wrong  with  your  Gov 
ernor's  ball  last  night !  —  setting  up  for  a  lady,  for 
sooth  !  —  bringing  all  the  town  about  your  ears  !  You 
might  have  known  that  he  would  never  have  taken 
you  there  in  his  senses.  At  Fair  View  things  went 
very  well.  He  was  entertained,  —  and  I  meant  to  see 
that  no  harm  came  of  it,  —  and  Darden  got  his  sup 
port  in  the  vestry.  For  he  was  bit,  —  there  's  no 
doubt  of  that,  —  though  what  he  ever  saw  in  you  more 
than  big  eyes  and  a  brown  skin,  the  Lord  knows,  not 
I !  Only  your  friend !  —  a  fine  gentleman  just  from 
London,  with  a  whole  Canterbury  book  of  stories 
about  his  life  there,  to  spend  a'most  a  summer  on  the 


298  AUDREY 

road  between  his  plantation  and  a  wretched  glebe 
house  because  he  was  only  your  friend,  and  had  saved 
you  from  the  Indians  when  you  were  a  child,  and 
wished  to  be  kind  to  you  still !  I  '11  tell  you  who  did 
wish  to  be  kind  to  you,  and  that 's  Jean  Hugon,  the 
trader,  who  wanted  to  marry  you." 

Audrey  rose  to  her  feet,  and  moved  slowly  back 
ward  to  the  wall.  Mistress  Deborah  went  shrilly  on: 
"  I  dare  swear  you  believe  that  Mr.  Haward  had  you 
in  mind  all  the  years  he  was  gone  from  Virginia? 
Well,  he  did  n't.  He  puts  you  with  Darden  and  me, 
and  he  says,  '  There  's  the  strip  of  Oronoko  down  by 
the  swamp,  —  I  've  told  my  agent  that  you  're  to  have 
from  it  so  many  pounds  a  year ; '  and  he  sails  away  to 
London  and  all  the  fine  things  there,  and  never  thinks 
of  you  more  until  he  comes  back  to  Virginia  and  sees 
you  last  May  Day  at  Jamestown.  Next  morning  he 
comes  riding  to  the  glebe  house.  '  And  so,'  he  says  to 
Darden,  'and  so  my  little  maid  that  I  brought  for 
trophy  out  of  the  Appalachian  Mountains  is  a  woman 
grown  ?  Faith,  I  'd  quite  forgot  the  child  ;  but  Saun- 
derson  tells  me  that  you  have  not  forgot  to  draw  upon 
my  Oronoko.'  That 's  all  the  remembrance  you  were 
held  in,  Audrey." 

She  paused  to  take  breath,  and  to  look  with  shrew 
ish  triumph  at  the  girl  who  leaned  against  the  wall. 
"  I  like  not  waking  up,"  said  Audrey  to  herself.  "  It 
were  easier  to  die.  Perhaps  I  am  dying." 

"  And  then  out  he  walks  to  find  and  talk  to  you, 
and  in  sets  your  pretty  summer  of  all  play  and  no 
work !  "  went  on  the  other,  in  a  high  voice.  "  Oh, 
there  was  kindness  enough,  once  you  had  caught  his 
fancy !  I  wonder  if  the  lady  at  Westover  praised  his 
kindness  ?  They  say  she  is  a  proud  young  lady :  I 


AUDREY  AWAKES  299 

wonder  if  she  liked  your  being  at  the  ball  last  night  ? 
When  she  comes  to  Fair  View,  I  '11  take  my  oath 
that  you  '11  walk  no  more  in  its  garden !  But  perhaps 
she  won't  come  now,  —  though  her  maid  Chloe  told 
Mistress  Bray's  Martha  that  she  certainly  loves 
him  "  — 

"I  wish  I  were  dead,"  said  Audrey.  "I  wish  I 
were  dead,  like  Molly."  She  stood  up  straight  against 
the  wall,  and  pushed  her  heavy  hair  from  her  forehead. 
"  Be  quiet  now,"  she  said.  "  You  see  that  I  am  awake ; 
there  is  no  need  for  further  calling.  I  shall  not  dream 
again."  She  looked  at  the  older  woman  doubtfully. 
"  Would  you  mind,"  she  suggested,  —  "  would  you  be 
so  very  kind  as  to  leave  me  alone,  to  sit  here  awake  for 
a  while?  I  have  to  get  used  to  it,  you  know.  To 
morrow,  when  we  go  back  to  the  glebe  house,  I  will 
work  the  harder.  It  must  be  easy  to  work  when  one 
is  awake.  Dreaming  takes  so  much  time." 

Mistress  Deborah  could  hardly  have  told  why  she 
did  as  she  was  asked.  Perhaps  the  very  strangeness 
of  the  girl  made  her  uncomfortable  in  her  presence  ; 
perhaps  in  her  sour  and  withered  heart  there  was  yet 
some  little  soundness  of  pity  and  comprehension  ;  or 
perhaps  it  was  only  that  she  had  said  her  say,  and 
was  anxious  to  get  to  her  friends  below,  and  shake 
from  her  soul  the  dust  of  any  possible  complicity  with 
circumstance  in  moulding  the  destinies  of  Darden's 
Audrey.  Be  that  as  it  may,  when  she  had  flung  her 
hood  upon  the  bed  and  had  looked  at  herself  in  the 
cracked  glass  above  the  dresser,  she  went  out  of  the 
room,  and  closed  the  door  somewhat  softly  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

BY    THE   KIVERSIDE 

"  YEA,  I  am  glad  —  I  and  my  father  and  mother 
and  Ephraim  —  that  thee  is  returned  to  Fair  View," 
answered  Truelove.  "  And  has  thee  truly  no  shoes  of 
plain  and  sober  stuffs  ?  These  be  much  too  gaudy." 

"There  's  a  pair  of  black  callimanco,"  said  the 
storekeeper  reluctantly  ;  "  but  these  of  flowered  silk 
would  so  become  your  feet,  or  this  red -heeled  pair  with 
the  buckles,  or  this  of  fine  morocco.  Did  you  think 
of  me  every  day  that  I  spent  in  Williamsburgh  ?  " 

"  I  prayed  for  thee  every  day,"  said  Truelove  sim 
ply,  —  "  for  thee  and  for  the  sick  man  who  had  called 
thee  to  his  side.  Let  me  see  thy  callimanco  shoes. 
Thee  knows  that  I  may  not  wear  these  others." 

The  storekeeper  brought  the  plainest  footgear  that 
his  stock  afforded.  "  They  are  of  a  very  small  size, 
—  perhaps  too  small.  Had  you  not  better  try  them 
ere  you  buy?  I  could  get  a  larger  pair  from  Mr. 
Carter's  store." 

Truelove  seated  herself  upon  a  convenient  stool, 
and  lifted  her  gray  skirt  an  inch  above  a  slender 
ankle.  "  Perchance  they  may  not  be  too  small,"  she 
said,  and  in  despite  of  her  training  and  the  whiteness 
of  her  soul  two  dimples  made  their  appearance  above 
.the  corners  of  her  pretty  month.  MacLean  knelt  to 
remove  the  worn  shoe,  but  found  in  the  shoestrings 
an  obstinate  knot.  The  two  had  the  store  to  them- 


BY  THE   RIVERSIDE  301 

selves  ;  for  Ephraim  waited  for  his  sister  at  the  land 
ing,  rocking  in  his  boat  on  the  bosom  of  the  river, 
watching  a  flight  of  wild  geese  drawn  like  a  snowy 
streamer  across  the  dark  blue  sky.  It  was  late  au 
tumn,  and  the  forest  was  dressed  in  flame  color. 

"Thy  fingers  move  so  slowly  that  I  fear  thee  is 
not  well,"  said  Truelove  kindly.  "  They  that  have 
nursed  men  with  fever  do  often  fall  ill  themselves. 
Will  thee  not  see  a  physician  ?  " 

MacLean,  sanguine  enough  in  hue,  and  no  more 
gaunt  of  body  than  usual,  worked  languidly  on.  "  I 
trust  no  lowland  physician,"  he  said.  "  In  my  own 
country,  if  I  had  need,  I  would  send  to  the  foot  of 
Dun-da-gu  for  black  Murdoch,  whose  fathers  have 
been  physicians  to  the  MacLeans  of  Duart  since  the 
days  of  Galethus.  The  little  man  in  this  parish,  — 
his  father  was  a  lawyer,  his  grandfather  a  merchant; 
he  knows  not  what  was  his  great-grandfather  !  There, 
the  shoe  is  untied !  If  I  came  every  day  to  your 
father's  house,  and  if  your  mother  gave  me  to  drink 
of  her  elder-flower  wine,  and  if  I  might  sit  on  the 
sunny  doorstep  and  watch  you  at  your  spinning,  I 
should,  I  think,  recover." 

He  slipped  upon  her  foot  the  shoe  of  black  cloth. 
Truelove  regarded  it  gravely.  "  'T  is  not  too  small, 
after  all,"  she  said.  "And  does  thee  not  think  it 
more  comely  than  these  other,  with  their  silly  pomp 
of  colored  heels  and  blossoms  woven  in  the  silk?" 
She  indicated  with  her  glance  the  vainglorious  row 
upon  the  bench  beside  her ;  then  looked  down  at  the 
little  foot  in  its  sombre  covering  and  sighed. 

"  I  think  that  thy  foot  would  be  fair  in  the  shoe  of 
Donald  Koss  !  "  cried  the  storekeeper,  and  kissed  the 
member  which  he  praised. 


302  AUDREY 

Truelove  drew  back,  her  cheeks  very  pink,  and  the 
dimples  quite  uncertain  whether  to  go  or  stay.  "  Thee 
is  idle  in  thy  behavior,"  she  said  severely.  "  I  do 
think  that  thee  is  of  the  generation  that  will  not  learn. 
I  pray  thee  to  expeditiously  put  back  my  own  shoe, 
and  to  give  me  in  a  parcel  the  callimanco  pair." 

MacLean  set  himself  to  obey,  though  with  the  ex 
pedition  of  a  tortoise.  Crisp  autumn  air  and  vivid 
sunshine  pouring  in  at  window  and  door  filled  and  lit 
the  store.  The  doorway  framed  a  picture  of  blue 
sky,  slow-moving  water,  and  ragged  landing ;  the  win 
dow  gave  upon  crimson  sumac  and  the  gold  of  a  syca 
more.  Truelove,  in  her  gray  gown  and  close  white 
cap,  sat  in  the  midst  of  the  bouquet  of  colors  afforded 
by  the  motley  lining  of  the  Fair  View  store,  and  gazed 
through  the  window  at  the  riotous  glory  of  this  world. 
At  last  she  looked  at  MacLean.  "  When,  a  year  ago, 
thee  was  put  to  mind  this  store,  and  I,  coming  here  to 
buy,  made  thy  acquaintance,"  she  said  softly,  "  thee 
wore  always  so  stern  and  sorrowful  a  look  that  my 
heart  bled  for  thee.  I  knew  that  thee  was  unhappy. 
Is  thee  unhappy  still  ?  " 

MacLean  tied  the  shoestrings  with  elaborate  care  ; 
then  rose  from  his  knees,  and  stood  looking  down 
from  his  great  height  upon  the  Quaker  maiden.  His 
face  was  softened,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  with  a 
gentle  voice.  uNo,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  unhappy  as 
at  first  I  was.  My  king  is  an  exile,  and  my  chief  is 
forfeited.  I  suppose  that  my  father  is  dead.  Ewin 
Mackinnon,  my  foe  upon  whom  I  swore  revenge,  lived 
untroubled  by  me,  and  died  at  another's  hands.  My 
country  is  closed  against  me ;  I  shall  never  see  it 
more.  I  am  named  a  rebel,  and  chained  to  this  soil, 
this  dull  and  sluggish  land,  where  from  year's  end  to 


BY  THE  RIVERSIDE  303 

year's  end  the  key  keeps  the  house  and  the  furze  bush 
keeps  the  cow.  The  best  years  of  my  manhood  — 
years  in  which  I  should  have  acquired  honor  —  have 
gone  from  me  here.  There  was  a  man  of  my  name 
amongst  those  gentlemen,  old  officers  of  Dundee,  who 
in  France  did  not  disdain  to  serve  as  private  sentinels, 
that  their  maintenance  might  not  burden  a  king  as 
unfortunate  as  themselves.  That  MacLean  fell  in  the 
taking  of  an  island  in  the  Ehine  which  to  this  day  is 
called  the  Island  of  the  Scots,  so  bravely  did  these 
gentlemen  bear  themselves.  They  made  their  lowly 
station  honorable ;  marshals  and  princes  applauded 
their  deeds.  The  man  of  my  name  was  unfortunate, 
but  not  degraded  ;  his  life  was  not  amiss,  and  his 
death  was  glorious.  But  I,  Angus  MacLean,  son  and 
brother  of  chieftains,  I  serve  as  a  slave  ;  giving  obe 
dience  where  in  nature  it  is  not  due,  laboring  in  an 
alien  land  for  that  which  profiteth  not,  looking  to  die 
peacefully  in  my  bed !  I  should  be  no  less  than  most 
unhappy." 

He  sat  down  upon  the  bench  beside  Truelove,  and 
taking  the  hem  of  her  apron  began  to  plait  it  between 
his  fingers.  "  But  to-day,"  he  said,  —  "  but  to-day 
the  sky  seems  blue,  the  sunshine  bright.  Why  is  that, 
Truelove  ?  " 

Truelove,  with  her  eyes  cast  down  and  a  deeper  wild 
rose  in  her  cheeks,  opined  that  it  was  because  Friend 
Marmaduke  Haward  was  well  of  his  fever,  and  had 
that  day  returned  to  Fair  View.  "Friend  Lewis 
Contesse  did  tell  my  father,  when  he  was  in  Williams- 
burgh,  that  thee  made  a  tenderer  nurse  than  any  wo 
man,  and  that  he  did  think  that  Marmaduke  Haward 
owed  his  life  to  thee.  I  am  glad  that  thee  has  made 
friends  with  him  whom  men  foolishly  call  thy  master." 


304  AUDEEY 

"  Credit  to  that  the  blue  sky,"  said  the  storekeeper 
whimsically ;  "  there  is  yet  the  sunshine  to  be  ac 
counted  for.  This  room  did  not  look  so  bright  half 
an  hour  syne." 

But  Truelove  shook  her  head,  and  would  not  reckon 
further ;  instead  heard  Ephraim  calling,  and  gently 
drew  her  apron  from  the  Highlander's  clasp.  "  There 
will  be  a  meeting  of  Friends  at  our  house  next  fourth 
day,"  she  said,  in  her  most  dovelike  tones,  as  she  rose 
and  held  out  her  hand  for  her  new  shoes.  "  Will  thee 
come,  Angus  ?  Thee  will  be  edified,  for  Friend  Sarah 
Story,  who  hath  the  gift  of  prophecy,  will  be  there, 
and  we  do  think  to  hear  of  great  things.  Thee  will 
come?" 

"  By  St.  Kattan,  that  will  I ! "  exclaimed  the  store 
keeper,  with  suspicious  readiness.  "  The  meeting 
lasts  not  long,  does  it?  When  the  Friends  are  gone 
there  will  be  reward  ?  I  mean  I  may  sit  on  the  door 
step  and  watch  you  —  and  watch  thee  —  spin  ?  " 

Truelove  dimpled  once  more,  took  her  shoes,  and 
would  have  gone  her  way  sedately  and  alone,  but  Mac- 
Lean  must  needs  keep  her  company  to  the  end  of  the 
landing  and  the  waiting  Ephraim.  The  latter,  as  he 
rowed  away  from  the  Fair  View  store,  remarked  upon 
his  sister's  looks :  •"  What  makes  thy  cheeks  so  pink, 
Truelove,  and  thy  eyes  so  big  and  soft  ?  " 

Truelove  did  not  know  ;  thought  that  mayhap  't  was 
the  sunshine  and  the  blowing  wind. 

The  sun  still  shone,  but  the  wind  had  fallen,  when, 
two  hours  later,  MacLean  pocketed  the  key  of  the 
store,  betook  himself  again  to  the  water's  edge,  and 
entering  a  small  boat,  first  turned  it  sunwise  for  luck's 
sake,  then  rowed  slowly  downstream  to  the  great-house 
landing.  Here  he  found  a  handful  of  negroes  —  boat- 


BY  THE  RIVERSIDE  305 

men  and  house  servants  —  basking  in  the  sunlight. 
Juba  was  of  the  number,  and  at  MacLean's  call 
scrambled  to  his  feet  and  came  to  the  head  of  the 
steps.  "  No,  sah,  Marse  Duke  not  on  de  place.  He 
order  Mirza  an'  ride  off  "  —  a  pause  —  "  an'  ride  off 
to  de  glebe  house.  Yes,  sah,  I  done  toP  him  he  ought 
to  rest.  Goin'  to  wait  tel  he  come  back  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  MacLean,  with  a  darkened  face. 
"  Tell  him  I  will  come  to  the  great  house  to-night." 

In  effect,  the  storekeeper  was  now,  upon  Fair  View 
plantation,  master  of  his  own  time  and  person.  There 
fore,  when  he  left  the  landing,  he  did  not  row  back  to 
the  store,  but,  it  being  pleasant  upon  the  water,  kept 
on  downstream,  gliding  beneath  the  drooping  branches 
of  red  and  russet  and  gold.  When  he  came  to  the 
mouth  of  the  little  creek  that  ran  past  Haward's  gar 
den,  he  rested  upon  his  oars,  and  with  a  frowning  face 
looked  up  its  silver  reaches. 

The  sun  was  near  its  setting,  and  a  still  and  tran 
quil  light  lay  upon  the  river  that  was  glassy  smooth. 
Rowing  close  to  the  bank,  the  Highlander  saw  through 
the  gold  fretwork  of  the  leaves  above  him  far  spaces 
of  pale  blue  sky.  All  was  quiet,  windless,  listlessly 
fair.  A  few  birds  were  on  the  wing,  and  far  toward 
the  opposite  shore  an  idle  sail  seemed  scarce  to  hold 
its  way.  Presently  the  trees  gave  place  to  a  grassy 
shore,  rimmed  by  a  fiery  vine  that  strove  to  cool  its 
leaves  in  the  flood  below.  Behind  it  was  a  little  rise 
of  earth,  a  green  hillock,  fresh  and  vernal  in  the  midst 
of  the  flame-colored  autumn.  In  shape  it  was  like 
those  hills  in  his  native  land  which  the  Highlander 
knew  to  be  tenanted  by  the  daoine  shi\  the  men  of 
peace.  There,  in  glittering  chambers  beneath  the 
earth,  they  dwelt,  a  potent,  eerie,  gossamer  folk,  and 


306  AUDREY 

thence,  men  and  women,  they  issued  at  times  to  deal 
balef  ully  with  the  mortal  race. 

A  woman  was  seated  upon  the  hillock,  quiet  as  a 
shadow,  her  head  resting  on  her  hand,  her  eyes  upon 
the  river.  Dark-haired,  dark-eyed,  slight  of  figure, 
and  utterly,  mournfully  still,  sitting  alone  in  the  fading 
light,  with  the  northern  sky  behind  her,  for  the  mo 
ment  she  wore  to  the  Highlander  an  aspect  not  of 
earth,  and  he  was  startled.  Then  he  saw  that  it  was 
but  Darden's  Audrey.  She  watched  the  water  where 
it  gleamed  far  off,  and  did  not  see  him  in  his  boat 
below  the  scarlet  vines.  Nor  when,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  he  fastened  the  boat  to  a  cedar  stump,  and 
stepped  ashore,  did  she  pay  any  heed.  It  was  not 
until  he  spoke  to  her,  standing  where  he  could  have 
touched  her  with  his  outstretched  hand,  that  she  moved 
or  looked  his  way. 

"  How  long  since  you  left  the  glebe  house  ?  "  he 
demanded  abruptly. 

"  The  sun  was  high,"  she  answered,  in  a  slow,  even 
voice,  with  no  sign  of  surprise  at  finding  herself  no 
longer  alone.  "  I  have  been  sitting  here  for  a  long 
time.  I  thought  that  Hugon  might  be  coming  this 
afternoon.  .  .  .  There  is  no  use  in  hiding,  but  I 
thought  if  I  stole  down  here  he  might  not  find  me 
very  soon." 

Her  voice  died  away,  and  she  looked  again  at  the 
water.  The  storekeeper  sat  down  upon  the  bank,  be 
tween  the  hillock  and  the  fiery  vine,  and  his  keen  eyes 
watched  her  closely.  "  The  river,"  she  said  at  last,  — 
"  I  like  to  watch  it.  There  was  a  time  when  I  loved 
the  woods,  but  now  I  see  that  they  are  ugly.  Now, 
when  I  can  steal  away,  I  come  to  the  river  always.  I 
watch  it  and  watch  it,  and  think.  .  .  .  All  that  you 


BY  THE  RIVERSIDE  307 

give  it  is  taken  so  surely,  and  hurried  away,  and  buried 
out  of  sight  forever.  A  little  while  ago  I  pulled  a 
spray  of  farewell  summer,  and  went  down  there  where 
the  bank  shelves  and  gave  it  to  the  river.  It  was 
gone  in  a  moment  for  all  that  the  stream  seems  so 
stealthy  and  slow." 

"The  stream  comes  from  afar,"  said  the  High 
lander.  "  In  the  west,  beneath  the  sun,  it  may  be  a 
torrent  flashing  through  the  mountains." 

"  The  mountains  !  "  cried  Audrey.  "  Ah,  they  are 
uglier  than  the  woods,  —  black  and  terrible  !  Once  I 
loved  them,  too,  but  that  was  long  ago."  She  put 
her  chin  upon  her  hand,  and  again  studied  the  river. 
"  Long  ago,"  she  said,  beneath  her  breath. 

There  was  a  silence  ;  then,  "  Mr.  Ha  ward  is  at  Fair 
View  again,"  announced  the  storekeeper. 

The  girl's  face  twitched. 

"  He  has  been  nigh  to  death,"  went  on  her  inform 
ant.  "  There  were  days  when  I  looked  for  no  morrow 
for  him  ;  one  night  when  I  held  above  his  lips  a  mir 
ror,  and  hardly  thought  to  see  the  breath-stain." 

Audrey  laughed.  "  He  can  fool  even  Death,  can  he 
not  ?  "  The  laugh  was  light  and  mocking,  a  tinkling, 
elvish  sound  which  the  Highlander  frowned  to  hear. 
A  book,  worn  and  dog-eared,  lay  near  her  on  the 
grass.  He  took  it  up  and  turned  the  leaves  ;  then  put 
it  by,  and  glanced  uneasily  at  the  slender,  brown-clad 
form  seated  upon  the  fairy  mound. 

"  That  is  strange  reading,"  he  said. 

Audrey  looked  at  the  book  listlessly.  "  The  school 
master  gave  it  to  me.  It  tells  of  things  as  they  are, 
all  stripped  of  make-believe,  and  shows  how  men  love 
only  themselves,  and  how  ugly  and  mean  is  the  world 
when  we  look  at  it  aright.  The  schoolmaster  says 


308  AUDREY 

that  to  look  at  it  aright  you  must  not  dream ;  you 
must  stay  awake,"  —  she  drew  her  hand  across  her 
brow  and  eyes,  —  "  you  must  stay  awake." 

"  I  had  rather  dream,"  said  MacLean  shortly.  "  I 
have  no  love  for  your  schoolmaster." 

"  He  is  a  wise  man,"  she  answered.  "  Now  that  I 
do  not  like  the  woods  I  listen  to  him  when  he  comes 
to  the  glebe  house.  If  I  remember  all  he  says,  maybe 
I  shall  grow  wise,  also,  and  the  pain  will  stop."  Once 
more  she  dropped  her  chin  upon  her  hand  and  fell  to 
brooding,  her  eyes  upon  the  river.  When  she  spoke 
again  it  was  to  herself :  "  Sometimes  of  nights  I  hear 
it  calling  me.  Last  night,  while  I  knelt  by  my  win 
dow,  it  called  so  loud  that  I  put  my  hands  over  my 
ears ;  but  I  could  not  keep  out  the  sound,  —  the  sound 
of  the  river  that  comes  from  the  mountains,  that  goes 
to  the  sea.  And  then  I  saw  that  there  was  a  light  in 
Fair  View  house." 

Her  voice  ceased,  and  the  silence  closed  in  around 
them.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  in  the  west  were 
purple  islands  merging  into  a  sea  of  gold.  The  river, 
too,  was  colored,  and  every  tree  was  like  a  torch  burn 
ing  stilly  in  the  quiet  of  the  evening.  For  some  time 
MacLean  watched  the  girl,  who  now  again  seemed  un 
conscious  of  his  presence ;  but  at  last  he  got  to  his 
feet,  and  looked  toward  his  boat.  "  I  must  be  going," 
he  said  ;  then,  as  Audrey  raised  her  head  and  the  light 
struck  upon  her  face,  he  continued  more  kindly  than 
one  would  think  so  stern  a  seeming  man  could  speak : 
"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  maid.  God  knows  that  I 
should  know  how  dreadful  are  the  wounds  of  the 
spirit !  Should  you  need  a  friend  "  — 

Audrey  shook  her  head.  "  No  more  friends,"  she 
said,  and  laughed  as  she  had  laughed  before.  "  They 


BY  THE  RIVERSIDE  309 

belong  in  dreams.  When  you  are  awake,  —  that  is  a 
different  thing." 

The  storekeeper  went  his  way,  back  to  the  Fair 
View  store,  rowing  slowly,  with  a  grim  and  troubled 
face,  while  Darden's  Audrey  sat  still  upon  the  green 
hillock  and  watched  the  darkening  river.  Behind 
her,  at  no  great  distance,  was  the  glebe  house ;  more 
than  once  she  thought  she  heard  Hugon  coming  through 
the  bushes  and  calling  her  by  name.  The  river  dark 
ened  more  and  more,  and  in  the  west  the  sea  of  gold 
changed  to  plains  of  amethyst  and  opal.  There  was 
a  crescent  moon,  and  Audrey,  looking  at  it  with  eyes 
that  ached  for  the  tears  that  would  not  gather,  knew 
that  once  she  would  have  found  it  fair. 

Hugon  was  coming,  for  she  heard  the  twigs  upon 
the  path  from  the  glebe  house  snap  beneath  his  tread. 
She  did  not  turn  or  move  ;  she  would  see  him  soon 
enough,  hear  him  soon  enough.  Presently  his  black 
eyes  would  look  into  hers ;  it  would  be  bird  and  snake 
over  again,  and  the  bird  was  tired  of  fluttering.  The 
bird  was  so  tired  that  when  a  hand  was  laid  on  her 
shoulder  she  did  not  writhe  herself  from  under  its 
touch ;  instead  only  shuddered  slightly,  and  stared 
with  wide  eyes  at  the  flowing  river.  But  the  hand 
was  white,  with  a  gleaming  ring  upon  its  forefinger, 
and  it  stole  down  to  clasp  her  own.  "  Audrey,"  said 
a  voice  that  was  not  Hugon's. 

The  girl  flung  back  her  head,  saw  Haward's  face 
bending  over  her,  and  with  a  loud  cry  sprang  to  her 
feet.  When  he  would  have  touched  her  again  she  re 
coiled,  putting  between  them  a  space  of  green  grass. 
"  I  have  hunted  you  for  an  hour,"  he  began.  "  At 
last  I  struck  this  path.  Audrey  "  — 

Audrey's  hands  went  to  her  ears.    Step  by  step  she 


310  AUDREY 

moved  backward,  until  she  stood  against  the  trunk  of 
a  blood-red  oak.  When  she  saw  that  Haward  followed 
her  she  uttered  a  terrified  scream.  At  the  sound  and 
at  the  sight  of  her  face  he  stopped  short,  and  his  out 
stretched  hand  fell  to  his  side.  "  Why,  Audrey,  Au 
drey  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  would  not  hurt  you,  child. 
I  am  not  Jean  Hugon  !  " 

The  narrow  path  down  which  he  had  come  was  visi 
ble  for  some  distance  as  it  wound  through  field  and 
copse,  and  upon  it  there  now  appeared  another  figure, 
as  yet  far  off,  but  moving  rapidly  through  the  fading 
light  toward  the  river.  "  Jean  !  Jean  !  Jean  Hu 
gon  !  "  cried  Audrey. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Haward's  face.  "  As  bad  as 
that !  "  he  said,  beneath  his  breath.  Going  over  to  the 
girl,  he  took  her  by  the  hands  and  strove  to  make  her 
look  at  him ;  but  her  face  was  like  marble,  and  her 
eyes  would  not  meet  his,  and  in  a  moment  she  had 
wrenched  herself  free  of  his  clasp.  "Jean  Hugon! 
Help,  Jean  Hugon !  "  she  called. 

The  half-breed  in  the  distance  heard  her  voice,  and 
began  to  run  toward  them. 

"  Audrey,  listen  to  me  !  "  cried  Haward.  "  How  can 
I  speak  to  you,  how  explain,  how  entreat,  when  you 
are  like  this  ?  Child,  child,  I  am  no  monster !  Why 
do  you  shrink  from  me  thus,  look  at  me  thus  with 
frightened  eyes  ?  You  know  that  I  love  you !  " 

She  broke  from  him  with  lifted  hands  and  a  wail 
ing  cry.  "  Let  me  go  !  Let  me  go !  I  am  running 
through  the  corn,  in  the  darkness,  and  I  hope  to  meet 
the  Indians  !  I  ani  awake,  —  oh,  God  !  I  am  wide 
awake ! " 

With  another  cry,  and  with  her  hands  shutting  out 
the  sound  of  his  voice,  she  turned  and  fled  toward  the 


BY  THE  RIVERSIDE  311 

approaching  trader.  Ha  ward,  after  one  deep  oath  and 
an  impetuous,  quickly  checked  movement  to  follow  the 
flying  figure,  stood  beneath  the  oak  and  watched  that 
meeting:  Hugon,  in  his  wine-colored  coat  and  Blen 
heim  wig,  fierce,  inquisitive,  bragging  of  what  he 
might  do ;  the  girl  suddenly  listless,  silent,  Set  only 
upon  an  immediate  return  through  the  fields  to  the 
glebe  house. 

She  carried  her  point,  and  the  two  went  away  with 
out  let  or  hindrance  from  the  master  of  Fair  View, 
who  leaned  against  the  stem  of  the  oak  and  watched 
them  go.  He  had  been  very  ill,  and  the  hour's  search, 
together  with  this  unwonted  beating  of  his  heart,  had 
made  him  desperately  weary,  — too  weary  to  do  aught 
but  go  slowly  and  without  overmuch  of  thought  to  the 
spot  where  he  had  left  his  horse,  mount  it,  and  ride  as 
slowly  homeward.  To-morrow,  he  told  himself,  he 
would  manage  differently ;  at  least,  she  should  be 
made  to  hear  him.  In  the  mean  time  there  was  the 
night  to  be  gotten  through.  MacLean,  he  remem 
bered,  was  coming  to  the  great  house.  What  with 
wine  and  cards,  thought  might  for  a  time  be  pushed 
out  of  doors. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    DUEL 

JUBA,  setting  candles  upon  a  table  in  Haward's 
bedroom,  chanced  to  spill  melted  wax  upon  his  mas 
ter's  hand,  outstretched  on  the  board.  "  Damn  you  !  " 
cried  Haward,  moved  by  sudden  and  uncontrollable 
irritation.  "  Look  what  you  are  doing,  sirrah !  " 

The  negro  gave  a  start  of  genuine  surprise.  Ha 
ward  could  punish,  —  Juba  had  more  than  once  felt 
the  weight  of  his  master's  cane,  —  but  justice  had 
always  been  meted  out  with  an  equable  voice  and  a 
fine  impassivity  of  countenance.  "  Don't  stand  there 
staring  at  me !  "  now  ordered  the  master  as  irritably 
as  before.  "  Go  stir  the  fire,  draw  the  curtains,  shut 
out  the  night !  Ha,  Angus,  is  that  you  ?  " 

MacLean  crossed  the  room  to  the  fire  upon  the 
hearth,  and  stood  with  his  eyes  upon  the  crackling 
logs.  "You  kindle  too  soon  your  winter  fire,"  he 
said.  "  These  forests,  flaming  red  and  yellow,  should 
warm  the  land." 

"  Winter  is  at  hand.  The  air  strikes  cold  to-night," 
answered  Haward,  and,  rising,  began  to  pace  the 
room,  while  MacLean  watched  him  with  compressed 
lips  and  gloomy  eyes.  Finally  he  came  to  a  stand 
before  a  card  table,  set  full  in  the  ruddy  light  of  the 
fire,  and  taking  up  the  cards  ran  them  slowly  through 
his  fingers.  "  When  the  lotus  was  all  plucked  and 
Lethe  drained,  then  cards  were  born  into  the  world," 


A  DUEL  313 

he  said  sententiously.  "  Come,  my  friend,  let  us  for 
get  awhile." 

They  sat  down,  and  Haward  dealt. 

"  I  came  to  the  house  landing  before  sunset,"  began 
the  storekeeper  slowly.  "  I  found  you  gone." 

"  Ay,"  said  Haward,  gathering  up  his  cards.  "  'T  is 
yours  to  play." 

"  Juba  told  me  that  you  had  called  for  Mirza,  and 
had  ridden  away  to  the  glebe  house." 

"  True,"  answered  the  other.     "  And  what  then  ?  " 

There  was  a  note  of  warning  in  his  voice,  but  Mac- 
Lean  did  not  choose  to  heed.  "  I  rowed  on  down  the 
river,  past  the  mouth  of  the  creek,"  he  continued,  with 
deliberation.  "  There  was  a  mound  of  grass  and  a 
mass  of  colored  vines  "  — 

"  And  a  blood-red  oak,"  finished  Haward  coldly. 
"  Shall  we  pay  closer  regard  to  what  we  are  doing  ? 
I  play  the  king." 

"  You  were  there !  "  exclaimed  the  Highlander. 
"  You  —  not  Jean  Hugon  —  searched  for  and  found 
the  poor  maid's  hiding-place."  The  red  came  into 
his  tanned  cheek.  "  Now,  by  St.  Andrew !  "  he  be 
gan  ;  then  checked  himself. 

Haward  tapped  with  his  finger  the  bit  of  painted 
pasteboard  before  him.  "I  play  the  king,"  he  re 
peated,  in  an  even  voice  ;  then  struck  a  bell,  and  when 
Juba  appeared  ordered  the  negro  to  bring  wine  and 
to  stir  the  fire.  The  flames,  leaping  up,  lent  strange 
animation  to  the  face  of  the  lady  above  the  mantel 
shelf,  and  a  pristine  brightness  to  the  swords  crossed 
beneath  the  painting.  The  slave  moved  about  the 
room,  drawing  the  curtains  more  closely,  arranging  all 
for  the  night.  While  he  was  present  the  players  gave 
their  attention  to  the  game,  but  with  the  sound  of  the 
closing  door  MacLean  laid  down  his  cards. 


314  AUDREY 

"  I  must  speak,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  The  girl's 
face  haunts  me.  You  do  wrong.  It  is  not  the  act  of 
a  gentleman." 

The  silence  that  followed  was  broken  by  Haward, 
who  spoke  in  the  smooth,  slightly  drawling  tones 
which  with  him  spelled  irritation  and  sudden,  hardly 
controlled  anger.  "  It  is  my  home-coming,"  he  said. 
"I  am  tired,  and  wish  to-night  to  eat  only  of  the 
lotus.  Will  you  take  up  your  cards  again  ?  " 

A  less  impetuous  man  than  MacLean,  noting  the 
signs  of  weakness,  fatigue,  and  impatience,  would 
have  waited,  and  on  the  morrow  have  been  listened  to 
with  equanimity.  But  the  Highlander,  fired  by  his 
cause,  thought  not  of  delay.  "  To  forget ! "  he  ex 
claimed.  "  That  is  the  coward's  part !  I  would  have 
you  remember  :  remember  yourself,  who  are  by  nature 
a  gentleman  and  generous ;  remember  how  alone  and 
helpless  is  the  girl;  remember  to  cease  from  this  pur 
suit!" 

"  We  will  leave  the  cards,  and  say  good-night," 
said  Haward,  with  a  strong  effort  for  self-control. 

"  Good-night  with  all  my  heart !  "  cried  the  other 
hotly,  —  "  when  you  have  promised  to  lay  no  further 
snare  for  that  maid  at  your  gates,  whose  name  you 
have  blasted,  whose  heart  you  have  wrung,  whose 
nature  you  have  darkened  and  distorted  "  — 

"  Have  you  done  ?  "  demanded  Haward.  "  Once 
more,  't  were  wise  to  say  good-night  at  once." 

"  Not  yet !  "  exclaimed  the  storekeeper,  stretching 
out  an  eager  hand.  "  That  girl  hath  so  haunting  a 
face.  Haward,  see  her  not  again!  God  wot,  I  think 
you  have  crushed  the  soul  within  her,  and  her  name 
is  bandied  from  mouth  to  mouth.  'T  were  kind  to 
leave  her  to  forget  and  be  forgotten.  Go  to  West- 


A  DUEL  315 

over :  wed  the  lady  there  of  whom  you  raved  in  your 
fever.  You  are  her  declared  suitor ;  't  is  said  that 
she  loves  you  "  — 

Haward  drew  his  breath  sharply  and  turned  in  his 
chair.  Then,  spent  with  fatigue,  irritable  from  recent 
illness,  sore  with  the  memory  of  the  meeting  by  the 
river,  determined  upon  his  course  and  yet  deeply  per 
plexed,  he  narrowed  his  eyes  and  began  to  give  poi 
soned  arrow  for  poisoned  arrow. 

"  Was  it  in  the  service  of  the  Pretender  that  you 
became  a  squire  of  dames?"  he  asked.  "  'Gad,  for  a 
Jacobite  you  are  particular !  " 

MacLean  started  as  if  struck,  and  drew  himself  up. 
"  Have  a  care,  sir !  A  MacLean  sits  not  to  hear  his 
king  or  his  chief  defamed.  In  future,  pray  remem 
ber  it." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  other,  "  I  would  have  Mr. 
MacLean  remember  "  — 

The  intonation  carried  his  meaning.  MacLean, 
flushing  deeply,  rose  from  the  table.  "  That  is  unwor 
thy  of  you,"  he  said.  "  But  since  before  to-night  ser 
vants  have  rebuked  masters,  I  spare  not  to  tell  you 
that  you  do  most  wrongly.  'T  is  sad  for  the  girl  she 
died  not  in  that  wilderness  where  you  found  her." 

"  Ads  my  life !  "  cried  Haward.  "  Leave  my  affairs 
alone !  " 

Both  men  were  upon  their  feet.  "  I  took  you  for  a 
gentleman,"  said  the  Highlander,  breathing  hard.  "  I 
said  to  myself :  '  Duart  is  overseas  where  I  cannot 
serve  him.  I  will  take  this  other  for  my  chief '  "  — 

"  That  is  for  a  Highland  cateran  and  traitor,"  in 
terrupted  Haward,  pleased  to  find  another  dart,  but 
scarcely  aware  of  how  deadly  an  insult  he  was  dealing. 

In  a  flash  the  blow  was  struck.     Juba,  in  the  next 


316  AUDREY 

room,  hearing  the  noise  of  the  overturned  table,  ap 
peared  at  the  door.  "  Set  the  table  to  rights  and  light 
the  candles  again,"  said  his  master  calmly.  "  No,  let 
the  cards  lie.  Now  begone  to  the  quarters !  'T  was 
I  that  stumbled  and  overset  the  table." 

Following  the  slave  to  the  door  he  locked  it  upon 
him ;  then  turned  again  to  the  room,  and  to  MacLean 
standing  waiting  in  the  centre  of  it.  "  Under  the  cir 
cumstances,  we  may,  I  think,  dispense  with  prelimi 
naries.  You  will  give  me  satisfaction  here  and  now  ?  " 

"  Do  you  take  it  at  my  hands  ? "  asked  the  other 
proudly.  "  Just  now  you  reminded  me  that  I  was 
your  servant.  But  find  me  a  sword  "  — 

Haward  went  to  a  carved  chest ;  drew  from  it  two 
rapiers,  measured  the  blades,  and  laid  one  upon  the 
table.  MacLean  took  it  up,  and  slowly  passed  the 
gleaming  steel  between  his  fingers.  Presently  he  be 
gan  to  speak,  in  a  low,  controlled,  monotonous  voice : 
"  Why  did  you  not  leave  me  as  I  was  ?  Six  months 
ago  I  was  alone,  quiet,  dead.  A  star  had  set  for  me  ; 
as  the  lights  fail  behind  Ben  More,  it  was  lost  and 
gone.  You,  long  hated,  long  looked  for,  came,  and 
the  star  arose  again.  You  touched  my  scars,  and  sud 
denly  I  esteemed  them  honorable.  You  called  me 
friend,  and  I  turned  from  my  enmity  and  clasped 
your  hand.  Now  my  soul  goes  back  to  its  realm  of 
solitude  and  hate ;  now  you  are  my  foe  again."  He 
broke  off  to  bend  the  steel  within  his  hands  almost  to 
the  meeting  of  hilt  and  point.  "  A  hated  master,"  he 
ended,  with  bitter  mirth,  "  yet  one  that  I  must  thank 
for  grace  extended.  Forty  stripes  is,  I  believe,  the 
proper  penalty." 

Haward,  who  had  seated  himself  at  his  escritoire 
and  was  writing,  turned  his  head.  "  For  my  reference 


A  DUEL  317 

to  your  imprisonment  in  Virginia  I  apologize.  I  de 
mand  the  reparation  due  from  one  gentleman  to  another 
for  the  indignity  of  a  blow.  Pardon  me  for  another 
moment,  when  I  shall  be  at  your  service." 

He  threw  sand  upon  a  sheet  of  gilt-edged  paper, 
folded  and  superscribed  it ;  then  took  from  his  breast 
a  thicker  document.  "  The  Solebay,  man-of-war,  lying 
off  Jamestown,  sails  at  sunrise.  The  captain  —  Cap 
tain  Meade  —  is  my  friend.  Who  knows  the  fortunes 
of  war  ?  If  by  chance  I  should  fall  to-night,  take  a 
boat  at  the  landing,  hasten  upstream,  and  hail  the  Sole- 
bay.  When  you  are  aboard  give  Meade  —  who  has 
reason  to  oblige  me  —  this  letter.  He  will  carry  you 
down  the  coast  to  Charleston,  where,  if  you  change 
your  name  and  lurk  for  a  while,  you  may  pass  for 
a  buccaneer  and  be  safe  enough.  For  this  other 
paper" —  He  hesitated,  then  spoke  on  with  some 
constraint :  "  It  is  your  release  from  servitude  in  Vir 
ginia,  —  in  effect,  your  pardon.  I  have  interest  both 
here  and  at  home  —  it  hath  been  many  years  since 
Preston  —  the  paper  was  not  hard  to  obtain.  I  had 
meant  to  give  it  to  you  before  we  parted  to-night. 
I  regret  that,  should  you  prove  the  better  swordsman, 
it  may  be  of  little  service  to  you." 

He  laid  the  papers  on  the  table,  and  began  to  divest 
himself  of  his  coat,  waistcoat,  and  long,  curled  peri 
wig.  MacLean  took  up  the  pardon  and  held  it  to  a 
candle.  It  caught,  but  before  the  flame  could  reach 
the  writing  Haward  had  dashed  down  the  other's  hand 
and  beaten  out  the  blaze.  "  'Slife,  Angus,  what  would 
you  do !  "  he  cried,  and,  taken  unawares,  there  was 
angry  concern  in  his  voice.  "  Why,  man,  't  is  lib 
erty  !  " 

"  I  may  not  accept  it,"  said  MacLean,  with  dry 


318  AUDREY 

lips.  "  That  letter,  also,  is  useless  to  me.  I  would 
you  were  all  villain." 

"  Your  scruple  is  fantastic  !  "  retorted  the  other,  and 
as  he  spoke  he  put  both  papers  upon  the  escritoire., 
weighting  them  with  the  sandbox.  "  You  shall  take 
them  hence  when  our  score  is  settled,  —  ay,  and  use 
them  as  best  you  may  !  Now,  sir,  are  you  ready  ?  " 

"You  are  weak  from  illness,"  said  MacLean 
hoarsely.  "  Let  the  quarrel  rest  until  you  have  re 
covered  strength.1' 

Haward  laughed.  "I  was  not  strong  yesterday," 
he  said.  "  But  Mr.  Everard  is  pinked  in  the  side, 
and  Mr.  Travis,  who  would  fight  with  pistols,  hath  a 
ball  through  his  shoulder." 

The  storekeeper  started.  "  I  have  heard  of  those 
gentlemen!  You  fought  them  both  upon  the  day 
when  you  left  your  sickroom  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,"  answered  the  other,  with  a  slight  lift 
of  his  brows.  "  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  move  the 
table  to  one  side  ?  So.  On  guard,  sir !  " 

The  man  who  had  been  ill  unto  death  and  the  man 
who  for  many  years  had  worn  no  sword  acquitted 
themselves  well.  Had  the  room  been  a  field  behind 
Montagu  House,  had  there  been  present  seconds,  a 
physician,  gaping  chairmen,  the  interest  would  have 
been  breathless.  As  it  was,  the  lady  upon  the  wall 
smiled  on,  with  her  eyes  forever  upon  the  blossoms  in 
her  hand,  and  the  river  without,  when  it  could  be 
heard  through  the  clashing  of  steel,  made  but  a  listless 
and  dreamy  sound.  Each  swordsman  knew  that  he 
had  provoked  a  friend  to  whom  his  debt  was  great, 
but  each,  according  to  his  godless  creed,  must  strive 
as  though  that  friend  were  his  dearest  foe.  The  Eng 
lishman  fought  coolly,  the  Gael  with  fervor.  The 


A  DUEL  319 

latter  had  an  unguarded  moment.  Haward's  blade 
leaped  to  meet  it,  and  on  the  other's  shirt  appeared  a 
bright  red  stain. 

In  the  moment  that  he  was  touched  the  Highlander 
let  fall  his  sword.  Haward,  not  understanding,  low 
ered  his  point,  and  with  a  gesture  bade  his  antagonist 
recover  the  weapon.  But  the  storekeeper  folded  his 
arms.  "  Where  blood  has  been  drawn  there  is  satis 
faction,"  he  said.  "  I  have  given  it  to  you,  and  now, 
by  the  bones  of  Gillean-na-Tuaidhe,  I  will  not  fight 
you  longer! " 

For  a  minute  or  more  Haward  stood  with  his  eyes 
upon  the  ground  and  his  hand  yet  closely  clasping  the 
rapier  hilt ;  then,  drawing  a  long  breath,  he  took  up 
the  velvet  scabbard  and  slowly  sheathed  his  blade. 
"  I  am  content,"  he  said.  "  Your  wound,  I  hope,  is 
slight  ?  " 

MacLean  thrust  a  handkerchief  into  his  bosom  to 
stanch  the  bleeding.  "  A  pin  prick,"  he  said  indiffer 
ently. 

His  late  antagonist  held  out  his  hand.  "  It  is  well 
over.  Come  !  We  are  not  young  hotheads,  but  men 
who  have  lived  and  suffered,  and  should  know  the 
vanity  and  the  pity  of  such  strife.  Let  us  forget  this 
hour,  call  each  other  friends  again  "  — 

"  Tell  me  first,"  demanded  MacLean,  his  arm  rigid 
at  his  side,  —  "  tell  me  first  why  you  fought  Mr.  Ever- 
ard  and  Mr.  Travis." 

Gray  eyes  and  dark  blue  met.  "I  fought  them," 
said  Haward,  "  because,  on  a  time,  they  offered  insult 
to  the  woman  whom  I  intend  to  make  my  wife." 

So  quiet  was  it  in  the  room  when  he  had  spoken  that 
the  wash  of  the  river,  the  tapping  of  walnut  branches 
outside  the  window,  the  dropping  of  coals  upon  the 


320  AUDREY 

hearth,  became  loud  and  insistent  sounds.  Then, 
"  Darden's  Audrey  ?  "  said  MacLean  in  a  whisper. 

"Not  Darden's  Audrey,  but  mine,"  answered  Ha- 
ward,  —  "  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  loved  or  shall 
love." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the 
darkness.  "  To-night  there  is  no  light,"  he  said  to 
himself,  beneath  his  breath.  "  By  and  by  we  shall 
stand  here  together,  listening  to  the  river,  marking  the 
wind  in  the  trees."  As  upon  paper  heat  of  fire  may 
cause  to  appear  characters  before  invisible,  so,  when 
he  turned,  the  flame  of  a  great  passion  had  brought  all 
that  was  highest  in  this  gentleman's  nature  into  his 
countenance,  softening  and  ennobling  it.  "  Whatever 
my  thoughts  before,"  he  said  simply,  "  I  have  never, 
since  I  awoke  from  my  fever  and  remembered  that 
night  at  the  Palace,  meant  other  than  this."  Coming 
back  to  MacLean  he  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
"  Who  made  us  knows  we  all  do  need  forgiveness ! 
Am  I  no  more  to  you,  Angus,  than  Ewin  Mor  Mac- 
kinnon  ?  " 

An  hour  later,  those  who  were  to  be  lifetime  friends 
went  together  down  the  echoing  stair  and  through  the 
empty  house  to  the  outer  door.  When  it  was  opened, 
they  saw  that  upon  the  stone  step  without,  in  the  square 
of  light  thrown  by  the  candles  behind  them,  lay  an  In 
dian  arrow.  MacLean  picked  it  up.  "  'T  was  placed 
athwart  the  door,"  he  said  doubtingly.  "  Is  it  in  the 
nature  of  a  challenge  ? " 

Haward  took  the  dart,  and  examined  it  curiously. 
"  The  trader  grows  troublesome,"  he  remarked.  "  He 
must  back  to  the  woods  and  to  the  foes  of  his  own 
class."  As  he  spoke  he  broke  the  arrow  in  two,  and 
flung  the  pieces  from  him. 


A  DUEL  321 

It  was  a  night  of  many  stars  and  a  keen  wind. 
Moved  each  in  his  degree  by  its  beauty,  Haward  and 
MacLean  stood  regarding  it  before  they  should  go, 
the  one  back  to  his  solitary  chamber,  the  other  to 
the  store  which  was  to  be  his  charge  no  longer  than 
the  morrow.  "  I  feel  the  air  that  blows  from  the 
hills,"  said  the  Highlander.  "It  comes  over  the 
heather ;  it  hath  swept  the  lochs,  and  I  hear  it  in  the 
sound  of  torrents."  He  lifted  his  face  to  the  wind. 
"  The  breath  of  freedom !  I  shall  have  dreams  to 
night." 

When  he  was  gone,  Haward,  left  alone,  looked  for 
a  while  upon  the  heights  of  stars.  "  I  too  shall  dream 
to-night,"  he  breathed  to  himself.  "  To-morrow  all 
will  be  well."  His  gaze  falling  from  the  splendor  of 
the  skies  to  the  swaying  trees,  gaunt,  bare,  and  mur 
muring  of  their  loss  to  the  hurrying  river,  sadness  and 
vague  fear  took  sudden  possession  of  his  soul.  He 
spoke  her  name  over  and  over ;  he  left  the  house  and 
went  into  the  garden.  It  was  the  garden  of  the  dying 
year,  and  the  change  that  in  the  morning  he  had 
smiled  to  see  now  appalled  him.  He  would  have  had 
it  June  again.  Now,  when  on  the  morrow  he  and  Au 
drey  should  pass  through  the  garden,  it  must  be  down 
dank  and  leaf-strewn  paths,  past  yellow  and  broken 
stalks,  with  here  and  there  wan  ghosts  of  flowers. 

He  came  to  the  dial,  and,  bending,  pressed  his  lips 
against  the  carven  words  that,  so  often  as  they  had 
stood  there  together,  she  had  traced  with  her  finger. 
"  Love !  thou  mighty  alchemist !  "  he  breathed.  "  Life ! 
that  may  now  be  gold,  now  iron,  but  never  again 
dull  lead!  Death"—  He  paused;  then,  "There 
shall  be  no  death,"  he  said,  and  left  the  withered 
garden  for  the  lonely,  echoing  house. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AUDREY   COMES   TO   WESTOVER 

IT  was  ten  of  the  clock  upon  this  same  night  when 
Hugon  left  the  glebe  house.  Audrey,  crouching  in  the 
dark  beside  her  window,  heard  him  bid  the  minister, 
as  drunk  as  himself,  good-night,  and  watched  him  go 
unsteadily  down  the  path  that  led  to  the  road.  Once 
he  paused,  and  made  as  if  to  return  ;  then  went  on  to 
his  lair  at  the  crossroads  ordinary.  Again  Audrey 
waited,  —  this  time  by  the  door.  Darden  stumbled 
upstairs  to  bed.  Mistress  Deborah's  voice  was  raised 
in  shrill  reproach,  and  the  drunken  minister  answered 
her  with  oaths.  The  small  house  rang  with  their 
quarrel,  but  Audrey  listened  with  indifference ;  not 
trembling  and  stopping  her  ears,  as  once  she  would 
have  done.  It  was  over  at  last,  and  the  place  sunk  in 
silence ;  but  still  the  girl  waited  and  listened,  stand 
ing  close  to  the  door.  At  last,  as  it  was  drawing  to 
ward  midnight,  she  put  her  hand  upon  the  latch,  and, 
raising  it  very  softly,  slipped  outside.  Heavy  breath 
ing  came  from  the  room  where  slept  her  guardians  ;  it 
went  evenly  on  while  she  crept  downstairs  and  un 
barred  the  outer  door.  Sure  and  silent  and  light  of 
touch,  she  passed  like  a  spirit  from  the  house  that  had 
given  her  shelter,  nor  once  looked  back  upon  it. 

The  boat,  hidden  in  the  reeds,  was  her  destination ; 
she  loosed  it,  and  taking  the  oars  rowed  down  the 


AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER  323 

creek.  When  she  came  to  the  garden  wall,  she  bent 
her  head  and  shut  her  eyes  ;  but  when  she  had  left  the 
creek  for  the  great  dim  river,  she  looked  at  Fair  View 
house  as  she  rowed  past  it  on  her  way  to  the  moun 
tains.  No  light  to-night ;  the  hour  was  late,  and  he 
was  asleep,  and  that  was  well. 

It  was  cold  upon  the  river,  and  sere  leaves,  loosen 
ing  their  hold  upon  that  which  had  given  them  life, 
drifted  down  upon  her  as  she  rowed  beneath  arching 
trees.  When  she  left  the  dark  bank  for  the  un 
shadowed  stream,  the  wind  struck  her  brow  and  the 
glittering  stars  perplexed  her.  There  were  so  many 
of  them.  When  one  shot,  she  knew  that  a  soul  had 
left  the  earth.  Another  fell,  and  another,  —  it  must 
be  a  good  night  for  dying.  She  ceased  to  row,  and, 
leaning  over,  dipped  her  hand  and  arm  into  the  black 
water.  The  movement  brought  the  gunwale  of  the 
boat  even  with  the  flood.  .  .  .  Say  that  one  leaned 
over  a  little  farther  .  .  .  there  would  fall  another 
star.  God  gathered  the  stars  in  his  hand,  but  he 
would  surely  be  angry  with  one  that  came  before  it 
was  called,  and  the  star  would  sink  past  him  into  a 
night  forever  dreadful.  .  .  .  The  water  was  cold  and 
deep  and  black.  Great  fish  throve  in  it,  and  below 
was  a  bed  of  ooze  and  mud.  .  .  . 

The  girl  awoke  from  her  dream  of  self-murder  with 
a  cry  of  terror.  Not  the  river,  good  Lord,  not  the 
river  !  Not  death,  but  life  !  With  a  second  shudder 
ing  cry  she  lifted  hand  and  arm  from  the  water,  and 
with  frantic  haste  dried  them  upon  the  skirt  of  her 
dress.  There  had  been  none  to  hear  her.  Upon  the 
midnight  river,  between  the  dim  forests  that  ever 
spoke,  but  never  listened,  she  was  utterly  alone.  She 
took  the  oars  again,  and  went  on  her  way  up  the  river, 


324  AUDREY 

rowing  swiftly,  for  the  mountains  were  far  away,  and 
she  might  be  pursued. 

When  she  drew  near  to  Jamestown  she  shot  far  out 
into  the  river,  because  men  might  be  astir  in  the  boats 
about  the  town  landing.  Anchored  in  midstream  was 
a  great  ship,  —  a  man-of-war,  bristling  with  guns. 
Her  boat  touched  its  shadow,  and  the  lookout  called 
to  her.  She  bent  her  head,  put  forth  her  strength,  and 
left  the  black  hull  behind  her.  There  was  another 
ship  to  pass,  a  slaver  that  had  come  in  the  evening 
before,  and  would  land  its  cargo  at  sunrise.  The 
stench  that  arose  from  it  was  intolerable,  and,  as  the 
girl  passed,  a  corpse,  heavily  weighted,  was  thrown 
into  the  water.  Audrey  went  swiftly  by,  and  the  river 
lay  clean  before  her.  The  stars  paled  and  the  dawn 
came,  but  she  could  not  see  the  shores  for  the  thick 
white  mist.  A  spectral  boat,  with  a  sail  like  a  gray 
moth's  wing,  slipped  past  her.  The  shadow  at  the 
helm  was  whistling  for  the  wind,  and  the  sound  came 
strange  and  shrill  through  the  filmy,  ashen  morning. 
The  mist  began  to  lift.  A  few  moments  now,  and  the 
river  would  lie  dazzlingly  bare  between  the  red  and 
yellow  forests.  She  turned  her  boat  shorewards,  and 
presently  forced  it  beneath  the  bronze-leafed,  drooping 
boughs  of  a  sycamore.  Here  she  left  the  boat,  tying 
it  to  the  tree,  and  hoping  that  it  was  well  hidden. 
The  great  fear  at  her  heart  was  that,  when  she  was 
missed,  Hugon  would  undertake  to  follow  and  to  find 
her.  He  had  the  skill  to  do  so.  Perhaps,  after  many 
days,  when  she  was  in  sight  of  the  mountains,  she 
might  turn  her  head  and,  in  that  lonely  land,  see  him 
coming  toward  her. 

The  sun  was  shining,  and  the  woods  were  gay  above 
her  head  and  gay  beneath  her  feet.  When  the  wind 


AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER  325 

blew,  the  colored  leaves  went  before  it  like  flights  of 
birds.  She  was  hungry,  and  as  she  walked  she  ate  a 
piece  of  bread  taken  from  the  glebe-house  larder.  It 
was  her  plan  to  go  rapidly  through  the  settled  country, 
keeping  as  far  as  possible  to  the  great  spaces  of  wood 
land  which  the  axe  had  left  untouched ;  sleeping  in 
such  dark  and  hidden  hollows  as  she  could  find ;  beg 
ging  food  only  when  she  must,  and  then  from  poor 
folk  who  would  not  stay  her  or  be  overcurious  about 
her  business.  As  she  went  on,  the  houses,  she  knew, 
would  be  farther  and  farther  apart ;  the  time  would 
soon  arrive  when  she  might  walk  half  a  day  and  see 
never  a  clearing  in  the  deep  woods.  Then  the  hills 
would  rise  about  her,  and  far,  far  off  she  might  see 
the  mountains,  fixed,  cloudlike,  serene,  and  still,  be 
yond  the  miles  of  rustling  forest.  There  would  be  no 
more  great  houses,  built  for  ladies  and  gentlemen,  but 
here  and  there,  at  far  distances,  rude  cabins,  dwelt 
in  by  kind  and  simple  folk.  At  such  a  home,  when 
the  mountains  had  taken  on  a  deeper  blue,  when 
the  streams  were  narrow  and  the  level  land  only  a 
memory,  she  would  pause,  would  ask  if  she  might  stay. 
What  work  was  wanted  she  would  do.  Perhaps  there 
would  be  children,  or  a  young  girl  like  Molly,  or  a 
kind  woman  like  Mistress  Stagg ;  and  perhaps,  after 
a  long,  long  while,  it  would  grow  to  seem  to  her  like 
that  other  cabin. 

These  were  her  rose-colored  visions.  At  other  times 
a  terror  took  her  by  the  shoulders,  holding  her  until 
her  face  whitened  and  her  eyes  grew  wide  and  dark. 
The  way  was  long  and  the  leaves  were  falling  fast, 
and  she  thought  that  it  might  be  true  that  in  this 
world  into  which  she  had  awakened  there  was  for  her 
no  home.  The  cold  would  come,  and  she  might  have 


326  AUDREY 

no  bread,  and  for  all  her  wandering  find  none  to  take 
her  in.  In  those  forests  of  the  west  the  wolves  ran 
in  packs,  and  the  Indians  burned  and  wasted.  Some 
bitter  night-time  she  would  die.  .  .  .  Watching  the 
sky  from  Fair  View  windows,  perhaps  he  might  idly 
mark  a  falling  star. 

All  that  day  she  walked,  keeping  as  far  as  was  pos 
sible  to  the  woods,  but  forced  now  and  again  to  trav 
erse  open  fields  and  long  stretches  of  sunny  road.  If 
she  saw  any  one  coming,  she  hid  in  the  roadside 
bushes,  or,  if  that  could  not  be  done,  walked  steadily 
onward,  with  her  head  bent  and  her  heart  beating  fast. 
It  must  have  been  a  day  for  minding  one's  own  busi 
ness,  for  none  stayed  or  questioned  her.  Her  dinner 
she  begged  from  some  children  whom  she  found  in  a 
wood  gathering  nuts.  Supper  she  had  none.  When 
night  fell,  she  was  glad  to  lay  herself  down  upon  a  bed 
of  leaves  that  she  had  raked  together ;  but  she  slept 
little,  for  the  wind  moaned  in  the  half -clad  branches, 
and  she  could  not  cease  from  counting  the  stars  that 
shot.  In  the  morning,  numbed  and  cold,  she  went 
slowly  on  until  she  came  to  a  wayside  house.  Quaker 
folk  lived  there ;  and  they  asked  her  no  question,  but 
with  kind  words  gave  her  of  what  they  had,  and  let 
her  rest  and  grow  warm  in  the  sunshine  upon  their 
doorstep.  She  thanked  them  with  shy  grace,  but  pre 
sently,  when  they  were  not  looking,  rose  and  went  her 
way.  Upon  the  second  day  she  kept  to  the  road.  It 
was  loss  of  time  wandering  in  the  woods,  skirting 
thicket  and  marsh,  forced  ever  and  again  to  return  to 
the  beaten  track.  She  thought,  also,  that  she  must  be 
safe,  so  far  was  she  now  from  Fair  View.  How  could 
they  guess  that  she  was  gone  to  the  mountains  ? 

About  midday,  two  men  on  horseback  looked  at  her 


AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER  327 

in  passing.  One  spoke  to  the  other,  and  turning  their 
horses  they  put  after  and  overtook  her.  He  who  had 
spoken  touched  her  with  the  butt  of  his  whip. 
"  Ecod  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It 's  the  lass  we  saw  run 
for  a  guinea  last  May  Day  at  Jamestown !  Why  so 
far  from  home,  light  o'  heels  ?  " 

A  wild  leap  of  her  heart,  a  singing  in  her  ears,  and 
Audrey  clutched  at  safety. 

"  I  be  Joan,  the  smith's  daughter,"  she  said  stolidly. 
"  I  niver  ran  for  a  guinea.  I  niver  saw  a  guinea.  I 
be  going  an  errand  for  feyther." 

"  Ecod,  then !  "  said  the  other  man.  "  You  're  on 
a  wrong  scent.  'T  was  no  dolt  that  ran  that  day  !  " 

The  man  who  had  touched  her  laughed.  "  'Facks, 
you  are  right.  Tom  !  But  I  'd  ha'  sworn  't  was  that 
brown  girl.  Go  your  ways  on  your  errand  for  *  fey 
ther  ' !  "  As  he  spoke,  being  of  an  amorous  turn,  he 
stooped  from  his  saddle  and  kissed  her.  Audrey, 
since  she  was  at  that  time  not  Audrey  at  all,  but 
Joan,  the  smith's  daughter,  took  the  salute  as  stolidly 
as  she  had  spoken.  The  two  men  rode  away,  and  the 
second  said  to  the  first :  "  A  William sburgh  man  told 
me  that  the  girl  who  won  the  guinea  could  speak  and 
look  like  a  born  lady.  Did  n't  ye  hear  the  story  of 
how  she  went  to  the  Governor's  ball,  all  tricked  out, 
dancing,  and  making  people  think  she  was  some  fine 
dame  from  Maryland  maybe  ?  And  the  next  day  she 
was  scored  in  church  before  all  the  town.  I  don't 
know  as  they  put  a  white  sheet  on  her,  but  they  say 
't  was  no  more  than  her  deserts." 

Audrey,  left  standing  in  the  sunny  road,  retook  her 
own  countenance,  rubbed  her  cheek  where  the  man's 
lips  had  touched  it,  and  trembled  like  a  leaf.  She 
was  frightened,  both  at  the  encounter  and  because  she 


328  AUDREY 

could  make  herself  so  like  Joan,  —  Joan  who  lived 
near  the  crossroads  ordinary,  and  who  had  been 
whipped  at  the  Court  House. 

Late  that  afternoon  she  came  upon  two  or  three 
rude  dwellings  clustered  about  a  mill.  A  knot  of 
men,  the  miller  in  the  midst,  stood  and  gazed  at  the 
mill-stream.  They  wore  an  angry  look ;  and  Audrey 
passed  them  hastily  by.  At  the  farthest  house  she 
paused  to  beg  a  piece  of  bread ;  but  the  woman  who 
came  to  the  door  frowned  and  roughly  bade  her  be 
gone,  and  a  child  threw  a  stone  at  her.  "  One  witch 
is  enough  to  take  the  bread  out  of  poor  folks'  mouths ! " 
cried  the  woman.  "  Be  off,  or  I  '11  set  the  dogs  on 
ye !  "  The  children  ran  after  her  as  she  hastened 
from  the  inhospitable  neighborhood.  "  'T  is  a  young 
witch,"  they  cried,  "  going  to  help  the  old  one  swim  to 
night  !  "  and  a  stone  struck  her,  bruising  her  shoulder. 

She  began  to  run,  and,  fleet  of  foot  as  she  was,  soon 
distanced  her  tormentors.  When  she  slackened  pace 
it  was  sunset,  and  she  was  faint  with  hunger  and 
desperately  weary.  From  the  road  a  bypath  led  to 
a  small  clearing  in  a  wood,  with  a  slender  spiral  of 
smoke  showing  between  the  trees.  Audrey  went  that 
way,  and  came  upon  a  crazy  cabin  whose  door  and 
window  were  fast  closed.  In  the  unkempt  garden 
rose  an  apple-tree,  with  the  red  apples  shriveling  upon 
its  boughs,  and  from  the  broken  gate  a  line  of  cedars, 
black  and  ragged,  ran  down  to  a  piece  of  water,  here 
ghastly  pale,  there  streaked  like  the  sky  above  with 
angry  crimson.  The  place  was  very  still,  and  the  air 
felt  cold.  When  no  answer  came  to  her  first  knock 
ing,  Audrey  beat  upon  the  door ;  for  she  was  suddenly 
afraid  of  the  road  behind  her,  and  of  the  doleful  woods 
and  the  coming  night. 


AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER  329 

The  window  shutter  creaked  ever  so  slightly,  and 
some  one  looked  out ;  then  the  door  opened,  and  a 
very  old  and  wrinkled  woman,  with  lines  of  cunning 
about  her  mouth,  laid  her  hand  upon  the  girl's  arm. 
"  Who  be  ye  ?  "  she  whispered*  "  Did  ye  bring  warn 
ing  ?  I  don't  say,  mind  ye,  that  I  can't  make  a  stream 
go  dry,  —  maybe  I  can  and  maybe  I  can't,  —  but  I 
did  n't  put  a  word  on  the  one  yonder."  She  threw 
up  her  arms  with  a  wailing  cry.  "But  they  won't 
believe  what  a  poor  old  soul  says !  Are  they  in  an 
evil  temper,  honey  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Audrey.  "  I 
have  come  a  long  way,  and  I  am  hungry  and  tired. 
Give  me  a  piece  of  bread,  and  let  me  stay  with  you 
to-night." 

The  old  woman  moved  aside,  and  the  girl,  entering 
a  room  that  was  mean  and  poor  enough,  sat  down  upon 
a  stool  beside  the  fire.  "If  ye  came  by  the  mill,"  de 
manded  her  hostess,  with  a  suspicious  eye,  "  why  did 
ye  not  stop  there  for  bite  and  sup  ?  " 

"  The  men  were  all  talking  together,"  answered 
Audrey  wearily.  "  They  looked  so  angry  that  I  was 
afraid  of  them.  I  did  stop  at  one  house ;  but  the 
woman  bade  me  begone,  and  the  children  threw  stones 
at  me  and  called  me  a  witch." 

The  crone  stooped  and  stirred  the  fire ;  then  from 
a  cupboard  brought  forth  bread  and  a  little  red  wine, 
and  set  them  before  the  girl.  "  They  called  you  a 
witch,  did  they  ?  "  she  mumbled  as  she  went  to  and  fro. 
"  And  the  men  were  talking  and  planning  together  ?  " 

Audrey  ate  the  bread  and  drank  the  wine ;  then, 
because  she  was  so  tired,  leaned  her  head  against  the 
table  and  fell  half  asleep.  When  she  roused  herself, 
it  was  to  find  her  withered  hostess  standing  over  her 


330  AUDREY 

with  a  sly  and  toothless  smile.  "  I  Ve  been  thinking," 
she  whispered,  "  that  since  you  're  here  to  mind  the 
house,  I  '11  just  step  out  to  a  neighbor's  about  some 
business  I  have  in  hand.  You  can  stay  by  the  fire, 
honey,  and  be  warm  and  comfortable.  Maybe  I  '11 
not  come  back  to-night." 

Going  to  the  window,  she  dropped  a  heavy  bar 
across  the  shutter.  "  Ye  '11  put  the  chain  across  the 
door  when  I  'm  out,"  she  commanded.  "  There  be 
evil-disposed  folk  may  want  to  win  in."  Coming  back 
to  the  girl,  she  laid  a  skinny  hand  upon  her  arm. 
Whether  with  palsy  or  with  fright  the  hand  shook 
like  a  leaf,  but  Audrey,  half  asleep  again,  noticed 
little  beyond  the  fact  that  the  fire  warmed  her,  and 
that  here  at  last  was  rest.  i(>  If  there  should  come  a 
knocking  and  a  calling,  honey,"  whispered  the  witch, 
"  don't  ye  answer  to  it  or  unbar  the  door.  Ye  '11  save 
time  for  me  that  way.  Bat  if  they  win  in,  tell  them 
I  went  to  the  northward." 

Audrey  looked  at  her  with  glazed,  uncomprehending 
eyes,  while  the  gnome-like  figure  appeared  to  grow 
smaller,  to  melt  out  of  the  doorway.  It  was  a  minute 
or  more  before  the  wayfarer  thus  left  alone  in  the  hut 
could  remember  that  she  had  been  told  to  bar  the 
door.  Then  her  instinct  of  obedience  sent  her  to  the 
threshold.  Dusk  was  falling,  and  the  waters  of  the 
pool  lay  pale  and  still  beyond  the  ebony  cedars. 
Through  the  twilit  landscape  moved  the  crone  who 
had  housed  her  for  the  night ;  but  she  went  not  to  the 
north,  but  southwards  toward  the  river.  Presently 
the  dusk  swallowed  her  up,  and  Audrey  was  left  with 
the  ragged  garden  and  the  broken  fence  and  the  tiny 
firelit  hut.  Reentering  the  room,  she  fastened  the 
door,  as  she  had  been  told  to  do,  and  then  went  back 


AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER  331 

to  the  hearth.  The  fire  blazed  and  the  shadows 
danced ;  it  was  far  better  than  last  night,  out  in  the 
cold,  lying  upon  dead  leaves,  watching  the  falling 
stars.  Here  it  was  warm,  warm  as  June  in  a  walled 
garden  ;  the  fire  was  red  like  the  roses.  .  .  .  the  roses 
that  had  thorns  to  bring  heart's  blood. 

Audrey  fell  fast  asleap ;  and  while  she  was  asleep 
and  the  night  was  yet  young,  the  miller  whose  mill 
stream  had  run  dry.  the  keeper  of  a  tippling  house 
whose  custom  had  dwindled,  the  ferryman  whose  child 
had  peaked  and  pined  and  died,  came  with  a  score 
of  men  to  reckon  with  the  witch  who  had  done  the 
mischief.  Finding  door  and  window  fast  shut,  they 
knocked,  softly  at  first,  then  loudly  and  with  threats. 
One  watched  the  chimney,  to  see  that  the  witch  did 
not  ride  forth  that  way ;  and  the  father  of  the  child 
wished  to  gather  brush,  pile  it  against  the  entrance, 
and  set  all  afire.  The  miller,  who  was  a  man  of 
strength,  ended  the  matter  by  breaking  in  the  door. 
They  knew  that  the  witch  was  there,,  because  they  had 
heard  her  moving  about,  and,  when  the  door  gave,  a 
cry  of  affright.  When,  however,  they  had  laid  hands 
upon  her,  and  dragged  her  out  under  the  stars,  into 
the  light  of  the  torches  they  carried,  they  found  that 
the  witch,  who,  as  was  well  known,  could  slip  her 
shape  as  a  snake  slips  its  skin,  was  no  longer  old  and 
bowed,  but  straight  and  young. 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  cried  Audrey.  "  How  dare  you 
hold  me  !  I  never  harmed  one  of  you.  I  am  a  poor 
girl  come  from  a  long  way  off  "  — 

"  Ay,  a  long  way ! "  exclaimed  the  ferryman. 
"  More  leagues,  I  '11  warrant,  than  there  are  miles  in 
Virginia  !  We  ?11  see  if  ye  can  swim  home,  ye  witch  !  " 

"  I  *m  no  witch ! "'  cried  the  girl  again.  "  I  never 
harmed  you.  Let  me  go  I  " 


332  AUDREY 

One  of  the  torchbearers  gave  ground  a  little.  "  She 
do  look  mortal  young.  But  where  be  the  witch, 
then?" 

Audrey  strove  to  shake  herself  free.  "The  old 
woman  left  me  alone  in  the  house.  She  went  to  —  to 
the  northward." 

"  She  lies !  "  cried  the  ferryman,  addressing  himself 
to  the  angry  throng.  The  torches,  flaming  in  the 
night  wind,  gave  forth  a  streaming,  uncertain,  and 
bewildering  light ;  to  the  excited  imaginations  of  the 
rustic  avengers,  the  form  in  the  midst  of  them  was 
not  always  that  of  a  young  girl,  but  now  and  again 
wavered  toward  the  semblance  of  the  hag  who  had 
wrought  them  evil.  "  Before  the  child  died  he  talked 
forever  of  somebody  young  and  fair  that  came  and 
stood  by  him  when  he  slept.  We  thought  't  was  his 
dead  mother,  but  now  —  now  I  see  who  't  was ! "  Seiz 
ing  the  girl  by  the  wrists,  he  burst  with  her  through 
the  crowd.  "  Let  the  water  touch  her,  she  '11  turn 
witch  again ! " 

The  excited  throng,  blinded  by  its  own  imagination, 
took  up  the  cry.  The  girl's  voice  was  drowned  ;  she 
set  her  lips,  and  strove  dumbly  with  her  captors ;  but 
they  swept  her  through  the  weed-grown  garden  and 
broken  gate,  past  the  cedars  that  were  so  ragged  and 
black,  down  to  the  cold  and  deep  water.  She  thought 
of  the  night  upon  the  river  and  of  the  falling  stars, 
and  with  a  sudden,  piercing  cry  struggled  fiercely  to 
escape.  The  bank  was  steep  ;  hands  pushed  her  for 
ward  ;  she  felt  the  ghastly  embrace  of  the  water,  and 
saw,  ere  the  flood  closed  over  her  upturned  face,  the 
cold  and  quiet  stars. 

So  loud  was  the  ringing  in  her  ears  that  she  heard 
no  access  of  voices  upon  the  bank,  and  knew  not  that 


AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER  333 

a  fresh  commotion  had  arisen.  She  was  sinking  for 
the  third  time,  and  her  mind  had  begun  to  wander 
in  the  Fair  View  garden,  when  an  arm  caught  and 
held  her  up.  She  was  borne  to  the  shore  ;  there  were 
men  on  horseback ;  some  one  with  a  clear,  authorita 
tive  voice  was  now  berating,  now  good-hurnoredly 
arguing  with,  her  late  judges. 

The  man  who  had  sprung  to  save  her  held  her  up 
to  arms  that  reached  down  from  the  bank  above; 
another  moment  and  she  felt  the  earth  again  beneath 
her  feet,  but  could  only  think  that,  with  half  the 
dying  past,  these  strangers  had  been  cruel  to  bring 
her  back.  Her  rescuer  shook  himself  like  a  great 
dog.  "I've  saved  the  witch  alive,"  he  panted. 
"  May  God  forgive  and  your  Honor  reward  me  ! " 

"  Nay,  worthy  constable,  you  must  look  to  Sathanas 
for  reward  ! "  cried  the  gentleman  who  had  been 
haranguing  the  miller  and  his  company.  These  gen 
try,  hardly  convinced,  but  not  prepared  to  debate  the 
matter  with  a  justice  of  the  peace  and  a  great  man  of 
those  parts,  began  to  slip  away.  The  torchbearers, 
probably  averse  to  holding  a  light  to  their  own  coun 
tenances,  had  flung  the  torches  into  the  water,  and 
now,  heavily  shadowed  by  the  cedars,  the  place  was 
in  deep  darkness.  Presently  there  were  left  to  berate 
only  the  miller  and  the  ferryman,  and  at  last  these 
also  went  sullenly  away  without  having  troubled  to 
mention  the  witch's  late  transformation  from  age  to 
youth. 

"  Where  is  the  rescued  fair  one  ?  "  continued  the 
gentleman  who,  for  his  own  pleasure,  had  led  the 
conservers  of  law  and  order.  "  Produce  the  sibyl, 
honest  Dogberry  I  Faith,  if  the  lady  be  not  an  in 
grate,  you  Ve  henceforth  a  friend  at  court  I  " 


334  AUDREY 

"  My  name  is  Saunders,  —  Dick  Saunders,  your 
Honor,"  quoth  the  constable.  "  For  the  witch,  she 
lies  quiet  on  the  ground  beneath  the  cedar  yonder." 

"  She  won't  speak  !  "  cried  another.  "  She  just 
lies  there  trembling,  with  her  face  in  her  hands." 

"  But  she  said,  '  O  Christ ! '  when  we  took  her  from 
the  water,"  put  in  a  third. 

"  She  was  nigh  drowned,"  ended  the  constable. 
"  And  I  'm  a-tremble  myself,  the  water  was  that  cold. 
Wauns !  I  wish  I  were  in  the  chimney  corner  at  the 
Court  House  ordinary  !  " 

The  master  of  Westover  flung  his  riding  cloak  to 
one  of  the  constable's  men.  '*  Wrap  it  around  the 
shivering  iniquity  on  the  ground  yonder ;  and  you, 
Tom  Hope,  that  brought  warning  of  what  your  neigh 
bors  would  do,  mount  and  take  the  witch  behind  you. 
Master  Constable,  you  will  lodge  Hecate  in  the  gaol 
to-night,  and  in  the  morning  bring  her  up  to  the  great 
house.  We  would  inquire  why  a  lady  so  accom 
plished  that  she  can  dry  a  mill  stream  to  plague  a 
miller  cannot  drain  a  pool  to  save  herself  from  drown- 
ing!" 

At  a  crossing  of  the  ways,  shortly  before  Court 
House,  gaol,  and  ordinary  were  reached,  the  adventu 
rous  Colonel  gave  a  good-night  to  the  constable  and 
his  company,  and,  with  a  negro  servant  at  his  heels, 
rode  gayly  on  beneath  the  stars  to  his  house  at  West- 
over.  Hardy,  alert,  in  love  with  living,  he  was  well 
amused  by  the  night's  proceedings.  The  incident 
should  figure  in  his  next  letter  to  Orrery  or  to  his 
cousin  Taylor, 

It  figured  largely  in  the  table-talk  next  morning, 
when  the  sprightly  gentleman  sat  at  breakfast  with 
his  daughter  and  his  second  wife,  a  fair  and  youthful 


AUDREY  COMES  TO  WESTOVER  335 

kinswoman  of  Martha  and  Teresa  Blount.  The  gentle 
man,  launched  upon  the  subject  of  witchcraft,  handled 
it  with  equal  wit  and  learning.  The  ladies  thought 
that  the  water  must  have  been  very  cold,  and  trusted 
that  the  old  dame  was  properly  grateful,  and  would, 
after  such  a  lesson,  leave  her  evil  practices.  As  they 
were  rising  from  table,  word  was  brought  to  the  mas 
ter  that  constable  and  witch  were  outside. 

The  Colonel  kissed  his  wife,  promised  his  daughter 
to  be  merciful,  and,  humming  a  song,  went  through 
the  hall  to  the  open  house  door  and  the  broad,  three- 
sided  steps  of  stone.  The  constable  was  awaiting  him. 

"  Here  be  mysteries,  your  Honor  1  As  I  serve  the 
King,  ?t  were  n't  Goody  Price  for  whom  I  ruined  my 
new  frieze,  but  a  slip  of  a  girl ! "  He  waved  his 
hand.  "  Will  your  Honor  please  to  look  ?  " 

Audrey  sat  in  the  sunshine  upon  the  stone  steps 
with  her  head  bowed  upon  her  arms.  The  morning 
that  was  so  bright  was  not  bright  for  her ;  she  thought 
that  life  had  used  her  but  unkindly.  A  great  tree, 
growing  close  to  the  house,  sent  leaves  of  dull  gold 
adrift,  and  they  lay  at  her  feet  and  upon  the  skirt  of 
her  dress.  The  constable  spoke  to  her  :  "  Now,  mis 
tress,  here  'a  a  gentleman  as  stands  for  the  King  and 
the  law.  Look  up  ! " 

A  white  hand  was  laid  upon  the  Colonel's  arm. 
"I  came  to  make  sure  that  you  were  not  harsh 
with  the  poor  creature,"  said  Evelyn's  pitying  voice. 
"  There  is  so  much  misery.  Where  is  she  ?  Ah  !  " 

To  gain  at  last  his  prisoner's  attention,  the  con 
stable  strv.ek  her  lightly  across  the  shoulders  with  his 
cane.  "Get  up!"  he  cried  impatiently.  "Get  up 
and  make  your  curtsy !  Ecod,  I  wish  1  'd  left  you  in 
Hunter's  Pond!" 


336  AUDREY 

Audrey  rose,  and  turned  her  face,  not  to  the  justice 
of  the  peace  and  arbiter  of  the  fate  of  witches,  but  to 
Evelyn,  standing  above  her,  —  Evelyn,  slighter,  paler, 
than  she  had  been  at  Williamsburgh,  but  beautiful  in 
her  colored,  fragrant  silks  and  the  air  that  was  hers  of 
sweet  and  mournful  distinction.  Now  she  cried  out 
sharply,  while  "  That  girl  again  !  "  swore  the  Colonel, 
beneath  his  breath. 

Audrey  did  as  she  had  been  told,  and  made  her 
curtsy.  Then,  while  father  and  daughter  stared  at 
her,  the  gentleman  very  red  and  biting  his  lip,  the 
lady  marble  in  her  loveliness,  she  tried  to  speak,  to 
ask  them  to  let  her  go,  but  found  no  words.  The  face 
of  Evelyn,  at  whom  alone  she  looked,  wavered  into 
distance,  gazing  at  her  coldly  and  mournfully  from 
miles  away.  She  made  a  faint  gesture  of  weariness 
and  despair ;  then  sank  down  at  Evelyn's  feet,  and 
lay  there  in  a  swoon. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

TWO  WOMEN 

EVELYN,  hearing  footsteps  across  the  floor  of  the 
attic  room  above  her  own  bedchamber,  arose  and  set 
wide  the  door ;  then  went  back  to  her  chair  by  the 
window  that  looked  out  upon  green  grass  and  party- 
colored  trees  and  long  reaches  of  the  shining  river. 
"  Come  here,  if  you  please,"  she  called  to  Audrey,  as 
the  latter  slowly  descended  the  stair  from  the  room 
where,  half  asleep,  half  awake,  she  had  lain  since 
morning. 

Audrey  entered  the  pleasant  chamber,  furnished 
with  what  luxury  the  age  afforded,  and  stood  before 
the  sometime  princess  of  her  dreams.  "  Will  you  not 
sit  down  ?  "  asked  Evelyn,  in  a  low  voice,  and  pointed 
to  a  chair. 

"  I  had  rather  stand,"  answered  Audrey.  "  Why 
did  you  call  me  ?  I  was  on  my  way  "  — 

The  other's  clear  eyes  dwelt  upon  her.  "  Whither 
were  you  going  ?  " 

"  Out  of  your  house,"  said  Audrey  simply,  "  and 
out  of  your  life." 

Evelyn  folded  her  hands  in  her  silken  lap,  and 
looked  out  upon  river  and  sky  and  ceaseless  drift  of 
colored  leaves.  "  You  can  never  go  out  of  my  life," 
she  said.  "  Why  the  power  to  vex  and  ruin  was  given 
you  I  do  not  know,  but  you  have  used  it.  Why  did 
you  run  away  from  Fair  View  ?  " 


338  AUDREY 

"  That  I  might  never  see  Mr.  Haward  again,"  an 
swered  Audrey.  She  held  her  head  up,  but  she  felt 
the  stab.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  hers  was 
the  power  to  vex  and  ruin ;  apparently  that  belonged 
elsewhere. 

Evelyn  turned  from  the  window,  and  the  two  wo 
men,  the  princess  and  the  herdgirl,  regarded  each 
other.  "  Oh,  my  God  !  "  cried  Evelyn.  "  I  did  not 
know  that  you  loved  him  so  !  " 

But  Audrey  shook  her  head,  and  spoke  with  calm 
ness  :  "  Once  I  loved  and  knew  it  not,  and  once  I 
loved  and  knew  it.  It  was  all  in  a  dream,  and  now 
I  have  waked  up."  She  passed  her  hand  across  her 
brow  and  eyes,  and  pushed  back  her  heavy  hair.  It 
was  a  gesture  that  was  common  to  her.  To  Evelyn  it 
brought  a  sudden  stinging  memory  of  the  ball-room 
at  the  Palace  ;  of  how  this  girl  had  looked  in  her 
splendid  dress,  with  the  roses  in  her  hair ;  of  Ha- 
ward's  words  at  the  coach  door.  She  had  not  seen 
him  since  that  night.  "  I  am  going  a  long  way,"  con 
tinued  Audrey.  t6  It  will  be  as  though  I  died.  I 
never  meant  to  harm  you." 

The  other  gazed  at  her  with  wide,  dry  eyes,  and 
with  an  unwonted  color  in  her  cheeks.  "  She  is  beau 
tiful,"  thought  Audrey ;  then  wondered  how  long  she 
must  stay  in  this  room  and  this  house.  Without  the 
window  the  trees  beckoned,  the  light  was  fair  upon 
the  river ;  in  the  south  hung  a  cloud,  silver-hued,  and 
shaped  like  two  mighty  wings.  Audrey,  with  her 
eyes  upon  the  cloud,  thought,  "  If  the  wings  were 
mine,  I  would  reach  the  mountains  to-night," 

"  Do  you  remember  last  May  Day  ?  "  asked  Evelyn, 
in  a  voice  scarcely  above  a  whisper.  "  He  and  I,  sit 
ting  side  by  side,  watched  your  running,  and  I  praised 


TWO  WOMEN  339 

you  to  him.  Then  we  went  away,  and  while  we 
gathered  flowers  on  the  road  to  Williamsburgh  he 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  I  said  no,  for  he  loved  me 
not  as  I  wished  to  be  loved.  Afterward,  in  Williams- 
burgh,  he  spoke  again.  ...  I  said,  '  When  you  come 
to  Westover ; '  and  he  kissed  my  hand,  and  vowed 
that  the  next  week  should  find  him  here."  She  turned 
once  more  to  the  window,  and,  with  her  chin  in  her 
hand,  looked  out  upon  the  beauty  of  the  autumn. 
"  Day  by  day,  and  day  by  day,"  she  said,  in  the  same 
hushed  voice,  "  I  sat  at  this  window  and  watched  for 
him  to  come.  The  weeks  went  by,  and  he  came  not. 
I  began  to  hear  talk  of  you.  Oh,  I  deny  not  that  it 
was  bitter ! " 

"  Oh  me !  oh  me  !  "  cried  Audrey.  "  I  was  so 
happy,  and  I  thought  no  harm." 

"He  came  at  last,"  continued  Evelyn.  "For  a 
month  he  stayed  here,  paying  me  court.  I  was  too 
proud  to  speak  of  what  I  had  heard.  After  a  while  I 
thought  it  must  have  been  an  idle  rumor."  Her  voice 
changed,  and  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  passion  and 
despair  she  lifted  her  arms  above  her  head,  then 
clasped  and  wrung  her  hands.  "  Oh,  for  a  month  he 
forgot  you !  In  all  the  years  to  come  I  shall  have 
that  comfort :  for  one  little  month,  in  the  company  of 
the  woman  whom,  because  she  was  of  his  own  rank, 
because  she  had  wealth,  because  others  found  her  fair 
and  honored  her  with  heart  as  well  as  lip,  he  wished 
to  make  his  wife,  —  for  that  short  month  he  forgot 
you  !  The  days  were  sweet  to  me,  sweet,  sweet !  Oh, 
I  dreamed  my  dreams  !  .  .  .  And  then  we  were  called 
to  Williamsburgh  to  greet  the  new  Governor,  and  he 
went  with  us,  and  again  I  heard  your  name  coupled 
with  his.  .  .  .  There  was  between  us  no  betrothal.  I 


340  AUDREY 

had  delayed  to  say  yes  to  his  asking,  for  I  wished 
to  make  sure,  —  to  make  sure  that  he  loved  me.  No 
man  can  say  he  broke  troth  with  me.  For  that  my 
pride  gives  thanks ! " 

"  What  must  I  do  ?  "  said  Audrey  to  herself.  "  Pain 
is  hard  to  bear." 

"  That  night  at  the  ball,"  continued  Evelyn,  "  when, 
coming  down  the  stair,  I  saw  you  standing  beside  him 
.  .  .  and  after  that,  the  music,  and  the  lights,  and 
you  dancing  with  him,  in  your  dark  beauty,  with  the 
flowers  in  your  hair  .  .  .  and  after  that,  you  and  I  in 
my  coach  and  his  face  at  the  window !  .  .  .  Oh,  I  can 
tell  you  what  he  said!  He  said:  'Good-by,  sweet 
heart.  .  .  .  The  violets  are  for  you;  but  the  great 
white  blossoms,  and  the  boughs  of  rosy  mist,  and  all 
the  trees  that  wave  in  the  wind  are  for  Audrey/  " 

"  For  me !  "  cried  Audrey,  —  "  for  me  an  hour  in 
Bruton  church  next  morning ! " 

A  silence  followed  her  words.  Evelyn,  sitting  in 
the  great  chair,  rested  her  cheek  upon  her  hand  and 
gazed  steadfastly  at  her  guest  of  a  day.  The  sunshine 
had  stolen  from  the  room,  but  dwelt  upon  and  caressed 
the  world  without  the  window.  Faint,  tinkling  notes 
of  a  harpsichord  floated  up  from  the  parlor  below, 
followed  by  young  Madam  Byrd's  voice  singing  to  the 
perturbed  Colonel :  — 

"  '  O  Love  I  they  wrong  thee  much, 
That  say  thy  sweet  is  bitter, 
When  thy  rich  fruit  is  such 
As  nothing  can  be  sweeter. 
Fair  house  of  joy  and  bliss '  "  — 

The  song  came  to  an  end,  but  after  a  pause  the 
harpsichord  sounded  again,  and  the  singer's  voice  rang 
out:  — 

" '  Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me »  "  — 


TWO  WOMEN  341 

Audrey  gave  an  involuntary  cry ;  then,  with  her  lip 
between  her  teeth,  strove  for  courage,  failed,  and  with 
another  strangled  cry  sank  upon  her  knees  before  a 
chair  and  buried  her  face  in  its  cushions. 

When  a  little  time  had  passed,  Evelyn  arose  and 
went  to  her.  "Fate  has  played  with  us  both,"  she 
said,  in  a  voice  that  strove  for  calmness.  "  If  there 
was  great  bitterness  in  my  heart  toward  you  then,  I 
hope  it  is  not  so  now;  if,  on  that  night,  I  spoke 
harshly,  unkindly,  ungenerously,  I  —  I  am  sorry.  I 
thought  what  others  thought.  I  —  I  cared  not  to 
touch  you.  .  .  .  But  now  I  am  told  that 't  was  not 
you  that  did  unworthily.  Mr.  Haward  has  written  to 
me ;  days  ago  I  had  this  letter."  It  was  in  her  hand, 
and  she  held  it  out  to  the  kneeling  girl.  "  Yes,  yes, 
you  must  read ;  it  concerns  you."  Her  voice,  low 
and  broken,  was  yet  imperious.  Audrey  raised  her 
head,  took  and  read  the  letter.  There  were  but  a  few 
unsteady  lines,  written  from  Marot's  ordinary  at  Wil- 
liamsburgh.  The  writer  was  too  weak  as  yet  for 
many  words ;  few  words  were  best,  perhaps.  His  was 
all  the  blame  for  the  occurrence  at  the  Palace,  for  all 
besides.  That  which,  upon  his  recovery,  he  must 
strive  to  teach  his  acquaintance  at  large  he  prayed 
Evelyn  to  believe  at  once  and  forever.  She  whom, 
against  her  will  and  in  the  madness  of  his  fever,  he 
had  taken  to  the  Governor's  house  was  most  innocent, 
—  guiltless  of  all  save  a  childlike  affection  for  the 
writer,  a  misplaced  confidence,  born  of  old  days,  and 
now  shattered  by  his  own  hand.  Before  that  night 
she  had  never  guessed  his  passion,  never  known  the 
use  that  had  been  made  of  her  name.  This  upon  the 
honor  of  a  gentleman.  For  the  rest,  as  soon  as  his 
strength  was  regained,  he  purposed  traveling  to  West- 


342  AUDREY 

over.  There,  if  Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd  would  receive 
him  for  an  hour,  he  might  in  some  measure  explain, 
excuse.  For  much,  he  knew,  there  was  no  excuse,  — 
only  pardon  to  be  asked. 

The  letter  ended  abruptly,  as  though  the  writer's 
strength  were  exhausted.  Audrey  read  it  through, 
then  with  indifference  gave  it  back  to  Evelyn.  "  It 
is  true,  —  what  he  says  ?  "  whispered  the  latter,  crum 
pling  the  paper  in  her  hand. 

Audrey  gazed  up  at  her  with  wide,  tearless  eyes. 
"  Yes,  it  is  true.  There  was  no  need  for  you  to  use 
those  words  to  me  in  the  coach,  that  night,  —  though 
even  then  I  did  not  understand.  There  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  fear  to  touch  me." 

Her  head  sank  upon  her  arm.  In  the  parlor  below 
the  singing  came  to  an  end,  but  the  harpsichord, 
lightly  fingered,  gave  forth  a  haunting  melody.  It 
was  suited  to  the  afternoon :  to  the  golden  light,  the 
drifting  leaves,  the  murmurs  of  wind  and  wave,  with 
out  the  window ;  to  the  shadows,  the  stillness,  and  the 
sorrow  within  the  room.  Evelyn,  turning  slowly  to 
ward  the  kneeling  figure,  of  a  sudden  saw  it  through 
a  mist  of  tears.  Her  clasped  hands  parted  ;  she  bent 
and  touched  the  bowed  head.  Audrey  looked  up,  and 
her  dark  eyes  made  appeal.  Evelyn  stooped  lower 
yet ;  her  tears  fell  upon  Audrey's  brow ;  a  moment, 
and  the  two,  cast  by  life  in  the  selfsame  tragedy,  were 
in  each  other's  arms. 

"  You  know  that  I  came  from  the  mountains," 
whispered  Audrey.  "  I  am  going  back.  You  must 
tell  no  one ;  in  a  little  while  I  shall  be  forgotten." 

"  To  the  mountains !  "  cried  Evelyn.  "  No  one 
lives  there.  You  would  die  of  cold  and  hunger.  No, 
no !  We  are  alike  unhappy  :  you  shall  stay  with  me 
here  at  Westover." 


HER  DARK  EYES  MADE  APPEAL 


TWO  WOMEN  343 

She  rose  from  her  knees,  and  Audrey  rose  with  her. 
They  no  longer  clasped  each  other,  —  that  impulse 
was  past,  —  but  their  eyes  met  in  sorrowful  amity. 
Audrey  shook  her  head.  "  That  may  not  be,"  she 
said  simply.  "  I  must  go  away  that  we  may  not  both 
be  unhappy."  She  lifted  her  face  to  the  cloud  in  the 
south.  "  I  almost  died  last  night.  When  you  drown, 
there  is  at  first  fear  and  struggling,  but  at  last  it  is 
like  dreaming,  and  there  is  a  lightness.  .  .  .  When 
that  came  I  thought,  'It  is  the  air  of  the  mountains, 
—  I  am  drawing  near  them.'  .  .  .  Will  you  let  me 
go  now?  I  will  slip  from  the  house  through  the 
fields  into  the  woods,  and  none  will  know  "  — 

But  Evelyn  caught  her  by  the  wrist.  "You  are 
beside  yourself  !  I  would  rouse  the  plantation  ;  in  an 
hour  you  would  be  found.  Stay  with  me !  " 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  Colonel's  secretary,  a 
pale  and  grave  young  man,  bowing  on  tho  threshold. 
He  was  just  come  from  the  attic  room,  where  he  had 
failed  to  find  the  young  woman  who  had  been  lodged 
there  that  morning.  The  Colonel,  supposing  that  by 
now  she  was  recovered  from  her  swoon  and  her  fright 
of  the  night  before,  and  having  certain  questions  to 
put  to  her,  desired  her  to  descend  to  the  parlor.  Hear 
ing  voices  in  Mistress  Evelyn's  room  — 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Drew,"  said  the  lady.  "You  need 
not  wait.  I  will  myself  seek  my  father  with  —  with 
our  guest." 

In  the  parlor  Madam  Byrd  was  yet  at  the  harpsi 
chord,  but  ceased  to  touch  the  keys  when  her  step 
daughter,  followed  by  Darden's  Audrey,  entered  the 
room.  The  master  of  Westover,  seated  beside  his 
young  wife,  looked  quickly  up,  arched  his  brows  and 
turned  somewhat  red,  as  his  daughter,  with  her  gliding 


344  AUDREY 

step,  crossed  the  room  to  greet  him.  Audrey,  obeying 
a  motion  of  her  companion's  hand,  waited  beside  a 
window,  in  the  shadow  of  its  heavy  curtains.  "  Eve 
lyn,"  quoth  the  Colonel,  rising  from  his  chair  and 
taking  his  daughter's  hand,  "  this  is  scarce  befit- 
ting"- 

Evelyn  stayed  his  further  speech  by  an  appealing 
gesture.  "  Let  me  speak  with  you,  sir.  No,  no, 
madam,  do  not  go  !  There  is  naught  the  world  might 
not  hear." 

Audrey  waited  in  the  shadow  by  the  window,  and 
her  mind  was  busy,  for  she  had  her  plans  to  lay. 
Sometimes  Evelyn's  low  voice,  sometimes  the  Colonel's 
deeper  tones,  pierced  her  understanding;  when  this 
was  so  she  moved  restlessly,  wishing  that  it  were  night 
and  she  away.  Presently  she  began  to  observe  the 
room,  which  was  richly  furnished.  There  were  gar 
lands  upon  the  ceiling ;  a  table  near  her  was  set  with 
many  curious  ornaments ;  upon  a  tall  cabinet  stood  a 
bowl  of  yellow  flowers ;  the  lady  at  the  harpsichord 
wore  a  dress  to  match  the  flowers,  while  Evelyn's  dress 
was  white ;  beyond  them  was  a  pier  glass  finer  than 
the  one  at  Fair  View. 

This  glass  reflected  the  doorway,  and  thus  she  was 
the  first  to  see  the  man  from  whom  she  had  fled.  "  Mr. 
Marmaduke  Haward,  massa  !  "  announced  the  servant 
who  had  ushered  him  through  the  hall. 

Haward,  hat  in  hand,  entered  the  room.  The  three 
beside  the  harpsichord  arose ;  the  one  at  the  window 
slipped  deeper  into  the  shadow  of  the  curtains,  and  so 
escaped  the  visitor's  observation.  The  latter  bowed 
to  the  master  of  Westover,  who  ceremoniously  returned 
the  salute,  and  to  the  two  ladies,  who  curtsied  to  him, 
but  opened  not  their  lips. 


TWO  WOMEN  345 

"  This,  sir,"  said  Colonel  Byrd,  holding  himself  very 
erect,  "  is  an  unexpected  honor." 

"  Rather,  sir,  an  unwished-for  intrusion,"  answered 
the  other.  "  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  I  will  trouble 
you  for  no  longer  time  than  matters  require." 

The  Colonel  bit  his  lip.  "  There  was  a  time  when 
Mr.  Haward  was  most  welcome  to  my  house.  If  ?t  is 
no  longer  thus  "  — 

Haward  made  a  gesture  of  assent.  "  I  know  that 
the  time  is  past.  I  am  sorry  that  'tis  so.  I  had 
thought,  sir,  to  find  you  alone.  Am  I  to  speak  before 
these  ladies  ?  " 

The  Colonel  hesitated,  but  Evelyn,  leaving  Madam 
Byrd  beside  the  harpsichord,  came  to  her  father's  side. 
That  gentleman  glanced  at  her  keenly.  There  was  no 
agitation  to  mar  the  pensive  loveliness  of  her  face ; 
her  eyes  were  steadfast,  the  lips  faintly  smiling.  "  If 
what  you  have  to  say  concerns  my  daughter,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "  she  will  listen  to  you  here  and  now." 

For  a  few  moments  dead  silence;  then  Haward 
spoke,  slowly,  weighing  his  words :  "  I  am  on  my  way, 
Colonel  Byrd,  to  the  country  beyond  the  falls.  I  have 
entered  upon  a  search,  and  I  know  not  when  it  will  be 
ended  or  when  I  shall  return.  Westover  lay  in  my 
path,  and  there  was  that  which  needed  to  be  said  to 
you,  sir,  and  to  your  daughter.  When  it  has  been 
said  I  will  take  my  leave."  He  paused  ;  then,  with  a 
quickened  breath,  again  took  up  his  task :  "  Some 
months  ago,  sir,  I  sought  and  obtained  your  permission 
to  make  my  suit  to  your  daughter  for  her  hand.  The 
lady,  worthy  of  a  better  mate,  hath  done  well  in  say 
ing  no  to  my  importunity.  I  accept  her  decision,  with 
draw  my  suit,  wish  her  all  happiness."  He  bowed 
again  formally ;  then  stood  with  lowered  eyes,  his  hand 
griping  the  edge  of  the  table. 


346  AUDREY 

"  I  am  aware  that  my  daughter  has  declined  to  en 
tertain  your  proposals,"  said  the  Colonel  coldly,  "  and 
I  approve  her  determination.  Is  this  all,  sir?" 

"It  should,  perhaps,  be  all,"  answered  Haward. 
"  And  yet  "  — -  He  turned  to  Evelyn,  snow-white, 
calm,  with  that  faint  smile  upon  her  face.  "  May  I 
speak  to  you  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

She  looked  at  him,  with  parting  lips. 

"Here  and  now,"  the  Colonel  answered  for  her. 
"  Be  brief,  sir." 

The  master  of  Fair  View  found  it  hard  to  speak. 
"  Evelyn  "  —  he  began,  and  paused,  biting  his  lip.  It 
was  very  quiet  in  the  familiar  parlor,  quiet  and  dim, 
and  drawing  toward  eventide.  The  lady  at  the  harpsi 
chord  chanced  to  let  fall  her  hand  upon  the  keys. 
They  gave  forth  a  deep  and  melancholy  sound  that 
vibrated  through  the  room.  The  chord  was  like  an 
odor  in  its  subtle  power  to  bring  crowding  memories. 
To  Haward,  a.nd  perhaps  to  Evelyn,  scenes  long  shifted, 
long  faded,  took  on  fresh  colors,  glowed  anew,  replaced 
the  canvas  of  the  present.  For  years  the  two  had  been 
friends ;  later  months  had  seen  him  her  avowed  suitor. 
In  this  very  room  he  had  bent  over  her  at  the  harpsi 
chord  when  the  song  was  finished ;  had  sat  beside  her 
in  the  deep  window  seat  while  the  stars  brightened, 
before  the  candles  were  brought  in. 

Now,  for  a  moment,  he  stood  with  his  hand  over  his 
eyes;  then,  letting  it  fall,  he  spoke  with  firmness. 
"  Evelyn,"  he  said,  "  if  I  have  wronged  you,  forgive 
me.  Our  friendship  that  has  been  I  lay  at  your  feet : 
forget  it  and  forget  me.  You  are  noble,  generous, 
high  of  mind :  I  pray  you  to  let  no  remembrance  of 
me  trouble  your  life.  May  it  be  happy,  —  may  al] 
good  attend  you.  .  .  .  Evelyn,  good-by  I  " 


TWO  WOMEN  347 

He  kneeled  and  lifted  to  his  lips  the  hem  of  her 
dress.  As  he  rose,  and  bowing  low  would  have  taken 
formal  leave  of  the  two  beside  her,  she  put  out  her 
hand,  staying  him  by  the  gesture  and  the  look  upon 
her  colorless  face.  "You  spoke  of  a  search,"  she 
said.  "What  search?" 

Haward  raised  his  eyes  to  hers  that  were  quiet, 
almost  smiling,  though  darkly  shadowed  by  past  pain. 
"  I  will  tell  you,  Evelyn.  Why  should  not  I  tell  you 
this,  also  ?  .  .  .  Four  days  ago,  upon  my  return  to 
Fair  View,  I  sought  and  found  the  woman  that  I  love, 

—  the  woman  tha,t,  by  all  that  is  best  within  me,  I 
love  worthily !      She  shrank  from  ine ;  she  listened 
not ;  she  shut  eye  and  ear,  and  fled.     And  I,  —  confi 
dent  fool !  —  I  thought,  '  To-morrow  I  will  make  her 
heed,'  and  so  let  her  go.     When  the  morrow  came  she 
was  gone  indeed."     He  halted,  made  an  involuntary 
gesture  of  distress,  then  went  on,  rapidly  and  with 
agitation :  "  There  was  a  boat  missing  ;  she  was  seen 
to  pass  Jamestown,  rowing  steadily  up  the  river,     But 
for  this  I  should  have  thought  —  I  should  have  feared 

—  God  knows  what  I  should  not  have  feared !     As  it 
is  I  have  searchers  out,  both  on  this  side  and  on  the 
southern  shore.     An  Indian  and  myself  have  come  up 
river  in  his  canoe.     We  have  not  found  her  yet.     If 
it  be  so  that  she  has  passed  unseen  through  the  settled 
country,  I  will  seek  her  toward  the  mountains." 

"  And  when  you  have  fcund  her,  what  then,  sir  ?  " 
cried  the  Colonel,  tapping  his  snuffbox. 

"  Then,  sir,"  answered  Haward  with  hauteur,  "  she 
will  become  my  wife." 

He  turned  again  to  Evelyn,  but  when  he  spoke  it 
was  less  to  her  than  to  himself.  "  It  grows  late,"  he 
said.  "  Night  is  coming  on,  and  at  the  fall  of  the  leaf 


348  AUDREY 

the  nights  are  cold.  One  sleeping  in  the  forest  would 
suffer  ...  if  she  sleeps.  I  have  not  slept  since  she 
was  missed.  I  must  begone  "  — 

"  It  grows  late  indeed,"  replied  Evelyn,  with  lifted 
face  and  a  voice  low,  clear,  and  sweet  as  a  silver  bell, 
—  "  so  late  that  there  is  a  rose  flush  in  the  sky  beyond 
the  river.  Look !  you  may  see  it  through  yonder  win 
dow." 

She  touched  his  hand  and  made  him  look  to  the  far 
window.  "  Who  is  it  that  stands  in  the  shadow,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  hands  ?  "  he  asked  at  last,  beneath  his 
breath. 

"  'T  is  Audrey,"  answered  Evelyn,  in  the  same  clear, 
sweet,  and  passionless  tones.  She  took  her  hand  from 
his  and  addressed  herself  to  her  father.  "  Dear  sir," 
she  said,  "  to  my  mind  no  quarrel  exists  between  us 
and  this  gentleman.  There  is  no  reason  "  —  she  drew 
herself  up  —  "  no  reason  why  we  should  not  extend  to 
Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  the  hospitality  of  Westover." 
She  smiled  and  leaned  against  her  father's  arm.  "  And 
now  let  us  three,  —  you  and  Maria,  whom  I  protest 
you  keep  too  long  at  the  harpsichord,  and  I,  who  love 
this  hour  of  the  evening,  —  let  us  go  walk  in  the  gar 
den  and  see  what  flowers  the  frost  has  spared." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SANCTUARY 

"  CHILD,"  demanded  Haward,  "  why  did  you 
frighten  me  so  ?  "  He  took  her  hands  from  her  face, 
and  drew  her  from  the  shadow  of  the  curtain  into  the 
evening  glow.  Her  hands  lay  passive  in  his ;  her  eyes 
held  the  despair  of  a  runner  spent  and  fallen,  with 
the  goal  just  in  sight.  "  Would  have  had  me  go  again 
to  the  mountains  for  you,  little  maid  ?  "  Haward's 
voice  trembled  with  the  delight  of  his  ended  quest. 

"  Call  me  not  by  that  name,"  Audrey  said.  "  One 
that  is  dead  used  it." 

"  I  will  call  you  love,"  he  answered,  —  "  my  love, 
my  dear  love,  my  true  love  !  " 

"  Nor  that  either,"  she  said,  and  caught  her  breath. 
"  I  know  not  why  you  should  speak  to  me  so." 

44 What  must  I  call  you  then?"  he  asked,  with 
the  smile  still  upon  his  lips. 

"  A  stranger  and  a  dreamer,"  she  answered.  "  Go 
your  ways,  and  I  will  go  mine." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room,  broken  by  Haward. 
"  For  us  two  one  path,"  he  said ;  "  why,  Audrey,  Au 
drey,  Audrey !  "  Suddenly  he  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
"  My  love  !  "  he  whispered  - —  "  my  love  Audrey !  my 
wife  Audrey !  "  His  kisses  rained  upon  her  face.  She 
lay  quiet  until  the  storm  had  passed ;  then  freed  her 
self,  looked  at  him,  and  shook  her  head. 

*'  You  killed  him,"  she  said,  "  that  one  whom  I  — 


350  AUDREY 

worshiped.  It  was  not  well  done  of  you.  .  .  .  There 
was  a  dreain  I  had  last  summer.  I  told  it  to  —  to  the 
one  you  killed.  Now  part  of  the  dream  has  come  true. 
.  .  .  You  never  were !  Oh,  death  had  been  easy  pain, 
for  it  had  left  memory,  hope !  But  you  never  were  ! 
you  never  were !  " 

"  I  am  I  "  cried  Haward  ardently.  "  I  am  your 
lover !  I  am  he  who  says  to  you,  Forget  the  past,  for 
get  and  forgive,  and  come  with  me  out  of  your  dream 
ing.  Come,  Audrey,  come,  come,  from  the  dim  woods 
into  the  sunshine,  —  into  the  sunshine  of  the  garden ! 
The  night  you  went  away  I  was  there,  Audrey,  under 
the  stars.  The  paths  were  deep  in  leaves,  the  flowers 
dead  and  blackening;  but  the  trees  will  be  green 
again,  and  the  flowers  bloom  !  When  we  are  wed  we 
will  walk  there,  bringing  the  spring  with  us  "  — 

"  When  we  are  wed !  "  she  answered.  "  That  will 
never  be." 

"It  will  be  this  week,'*  he  said,  smiling.  "Dear 
dryad,  who  have  no  friends  to  make  a  pother,  no  dowry 
to  lug  with  you,  no  gay  wedding  raiment  to  provide ; 
who  have  only  to  curtsy  farewell  to  the  trees  and  put 
your  hand  in  mine  "  — 

She  drew  away  her  hands  that  he  had  caught  in  his, 
and  pressed  them  above  her  heart ;  then  looked  rest 
lessly  from  window  to  door.  "  Will  you  let  me  pass, 
sir  ?  "  she  asked  at  last.  "  I  am  tired.  I  have  to  think 
what  I  am  to  do,  where  I  am  to  go." 

"  Where  you  are  to  go  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why, 
back  to  the  glebe  house,  and  I  will  follow,  and  the 
minister  shall  marry  us.  Child,  child!  where  else 
should  you  go  ?  What  else  should  you  do  ?  " 

"  God  knows !  "  cried  the  girl,  with  sudden  and  ex 
traordinary  passion.  "  But  not  that  I  Oh,  he  is  gone, 
—  that  other  who  would  have  understood  1 " 


SANCTUARY  351 

Haward  let  fall  his  outstretched  hand,  drew  back 
a  pace  or  two,  and  stood  with  knitted  brows.  The 
room  was  very  quiet;  only  Audrey  breathed  hur 
riedly,  and  through  the  open  window  came  the  sudden, 
lonely  cry  of  some  river  bird.  The  note  was  repeated 
ere  Haward  spoke  again. 

"  I  will  try  to  understand,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Au 
drey,  is  it  Evelyn  that  comes  between  us  ?  " 

Audrey  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes  and  brow  and 
pushed  back  her  heavy  hair.  "  Oh,  I  have  wronged 
her !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  taken  her  portion.  If  once 
she  was  cruel  to  me,  yet  to-day  she  kissed  me,  her  tears 
fell  upon  my  face.  That  which  I  have  robbed  her  of 
I  want  not.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  heart,  my  heart !  " 

"  'T  is  I,  not  you,  who  have  wronged  this  lady,"  said 
Haward,  after  a  pause.  "  I  have,  I  hope,  her  forgive 
ness.  Is  this  the  fault  that  keeps  you  from  me  ? :> 

Audrey  answered  not,  but  leaned  against  the  win 
dow  and  looked  at  the  cloud  in  the  south  that  was  now 
an  amethyst  island.  Haward  went  closer  to  her.  "  Is 
it,"  he  said,  "  13  it  because  in  my  mind  I  sinned  against 
you,  Audrey,  because  I  brought  upon  you  insult  and 
calumny  ?  Child,  child !  I  am  of  the  world.  That  I 
did  all  this  is  true,  but  now  I  would  not  purchase  end 
less  bliss  with  your  least  harm,  and  your  name  i?  more 
to  me  than  my  own.  Forgive  me,  Audrey,  forgive  the 
past."  He  bowed  his  head  as  he  stood  before  her. 

Audrey  gazed  at  him  with  wide,  dry  eyes  whose  lids 
burned.  A  hot  color  had  risen  to  her  cheek  ;  at  her 
heart  was  a  heavier  aching,  a  fuller  knowledge  of  loss. 
"  There  is  no  past,"  she  said.  "  It  was  a  dream  and  a 
lie.  There  is  only  to-day  .  .  .  and  you  are  a  stranger" 

The  purpje  cloud  across  the  river  began  to  darken  ; 
there  came  again  the  lonely  cry  of  the  bird ;  in  the 


352  AUDREY 

house  quarter  the  slaves  were  singing  as  they  went 
about  their  work.  Suddenly  Audrey  laughed.  It  was 
sad  laughter,  as  mocking  and  elfin  and  mirthless  a 
sound  as  was  ever  heard  in  autumn  twilight.  "  A 
stranger !  "  she  repeated.  "  I  know  you  by  your  name, 
and  that  is  all.  You  are  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  of 
Fair  View,  while  I  —  I  am  Darden's  Audrey !  " 

She  curtsied  to  him,  so  changed,  so  defiant,  so  darkly 
beautiful,  that  he  caught  his  breath  to  behold  her. 
"  You  are  all  the  world  to  me !  "  he  cried.  "  Audrey, 
Audrey !  Look  at  me,  listen  to  me  !  " 

He  would  have  approached  her,  would  have  seized 
her  hand,  but  she  waved  him  back.  "  Oh,  the  world ! 
"We  must  think  of  that !  What  would  they  say,  the 
Governor  and  the  Council,  and  the  people  who  go  to 
balls,  and  all  the  great  folk  you  write  to  in  England, 
—  what  would  they  say  if  you  married  me  ?  Mr.  Mar 
maduke  Haward  of  Fair  View,  the  richest  man  in  Vir 
ginia  !  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward,  the  man  of  taste, 
the  scholar,  the  fine  gentleman,  proud  of  his  name, 
jealous  of  his  honor !  And  Darden's  Audrey,  who 
hath  gone  barefoot  on  errands  to  most  houses  in  Fair 
View  parish !  Darden's  Audrey,  whom  the  preacher 
pointed  out  to  the  people  in  Bruton  church !  They 
would  call  you  mad ;  they  would  give  you  cap  and 
bells ;  they  would  say,  '  Does  he  think  that  he  can 
make  her  one  of  us  ?  —  her  that  we  turned  and  looked 
long  upon  in  Bruton  church,  when  the  preacher  called 
her  by  a  right  name  '  "  — 

"  Child,  for  God's  sake  !  "  cried  Haward. 

"  There  is  the  lady,  too,  —  the  lady  who  left  us  here 
together  !  We  must  not  forget  to  think  of  her,  —  of 
her  whose  picture  you  showed  me  at  Fair  View,  who 
was  to  be  your  wife,  who  took  me  by  the  hand  that 


SANCTUARY  353 

night  at  the  Palace.  There  is  reproach  in  her  eyes. 
Ah,  do  you  not  think  the  look  might  grow,  might  come 
to  haunt  us  ?  And  yourself  !  Oh,  sooner  or  later  re 
gret  and  weariness  would  come  to  dwell  at  Fair  View ! 
The  lady  who  walks  in  the  garden  here  is  a  fine  lady 
and  a  fit  mate  for  a  fine  gentleman,  and  I  am  a  beggar 
maid  and  no  man's  mate,  unless  it  be  Hugon's.  *Hu- 
gon,  who  has  sworn  to  have  me  in  the  house  he  has 
built !  Hugon,  who  would  surely  kill  you  "  — 

Haward  caught  her  by  the  wrists,  bruising  them  in 
his  grasp.  "  Audrey,  Audrey  !  Let  these  fancies  be ! 
If  we  love  each  other  "  — 

"  If !  "  she  echoed,  and  pulled  her  hands  away. 
Her  voice  was  strange,  her  eyes  were  bright  and 
strained,  her  face  was  burning.  "  But  if  not,  what 
then  ?  And  how  should  I  love  you  who  are  a  stranger 
to  me?  Oh,  a  generous  stranger  who,  where  he 
thinks  he  has  done  a  wrong,  would  repair  the  dam 
age."  Her  voice  broke ;  she  flung  back  her  head  and 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  throat.  "You  have 
done  me  no  wrong,"  she  said.  "  If  you  had,  I  would 
forgive  you,  would  say  good-by  to  you,  would  go  my 
way.  ...  as  I  am  going  now.  Let  me  pass,  sir  !  " 

Haward  barred  her  way.  "  A  stranger  !  "  he  said, 
beneath  his  breath.  "Is  there  then  no  tie  between 
shadow  and  substance,  dream  and  reality  ?  " 

"  None !  "  answered  Audrey,  with  defiance.  "  Why 
did  you  come  to  the  mountains,  eleven  years  ago? 
What  business  was  it  of  yours  whether  I  lived  or 
died  ?  Oh,  God  was  not  kind  to  send  you  there  !  " 

"  You  loved  me  once  !  "  he  cried.  "  Audrey,  Au 
drey,  have  I  slain  your  love  ?  " 

"  It  was  never  yours  !  "  she  answered  passionately, 
"  It  was  that  other's,  —  that  other  whom  I  imagined, 


364  AUDREY 

who  never  lived  outside  my  dream !  Oh,  let  me  pass, 
let  me  begone  !  You  are  cruel  to  keep  me.  I  —  I 
am  so  tired." 

White  to  the  lips,  Haward  moved  backward  a  step 
or  two,  but  yet  stood  between  her  and  the  door. 
Moments  passed  before  he  spoke ;  then,  "  Will  you 
bec6me  my  wife  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  studiously  quiet 
voice.  "  Marry  me,  Audrey,  loving  me  not.  Love 
may  come  in  time,  but  give  me  now  the  right  to  be 
your  protector,  the  power  to  clear  your  name." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  smile,  a  fine 
gesture  of  scorn.  "  Marry  you,  loving  you  not !  That 
will  I  never  do.  Protector!  That  is  a  word  I 
have  grown  to  dislike.  My  name  !  It  is  a  slight 
thing.  What  matter  if  folk  look  askance  when  it  is 
only  Darden's  Audrey  ?  And  there  are  those  whom 
an  ill  fame  does  not  frighten.  The  schoolmaster  will 
still  give  me  books  to  read,  and  tell  me  what  they 
mean.  He  will  not  care,  nor  the  drunken  minister, 
nor  Hugon.  ...  I  am  going  back  to  them,  to  Mis 
tress  Deborah  and  the  glebe  house.  She  will  beat 
me,  and  the  minister  will  curse,  but  they  will  take 
me  in.  ...  I  will  work  very  hard,  and  never  look  to 
Fair  View.  I  see  now  that  I  could  never  reach  the 
mountains."  She  began  to  move  toward  the  door. 
He  kept  with  her,  step  for  step,  his  eyes  upon  her 
face.  "  You  will  come  no  more  to  the  glebe  house," 
she  said.  "  If  you  do,  though  the  mountains  be  far 
the  river  is  near." 

He  put  his  hand  upon  the  latch  of  the  door.  "  You 
will  rest  here  to-night  ?  "  he  asked  gently,  as  of  a 
child.  "  I  will  speak  to  Colonel  Byrd ;  to-morrow  he 
will  send  some  one  with  you  down  the  river.  It  will 
be  managed  for  you,  and  as  you  wish.  You  will  rest 


SANCTUARY  355 

to-night?  You  go  from  me  now  to  your  room,  Au 
drey?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  and  thought  she  spoke  the 
truth. 

"  I  love  you,  —  love  you  greatly,"  he  continued. 
"  I  will  conquer,  —  conquer  and  atone !  But  now, 
poor  tired  one,  I  let  you  go.  Sleep,  Audrey,  sleep 
and  dream  again."  He  held  open  the  door  for  her, 
and  stood  aside  with  bent  head. 

She  passed  him  ;  then  turned,  and  after  a  moment 
of  silence  spoke  to  him  with  a  strange  and  sorrowful 
stateliness.  "  You  think,  sir,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have 
something  to  forgive  ?  " 

"  Much,"  he  answered,  —  "  very  much,  Audrey." 

"  And  you  wish  my  forgiveness  ?  " 

"  Ay,  Audrey,  your  forgiveness  and  your  love." 

"  The  first  is  mine  to  give,"  she  said.  "  If  you  wish 
it,  take  it.  I  forgive  you,  sir.  Good-by." 

"  Good-night,"  he  answered.    "  Audrey,  good-night." 

"  Good-by,"  she  repeated,  and  slowly  mounting  the 
broad  staircase  passed  from  his  sight. 

It  was  dark  in  the  upper  hall,  but  there  was  a  great 
glimmer  of  sky,  an  opal  space  to  mark  a  window  that 
gave  upon  the  sloping  lawn  and  pallid  river.  The  pale 
light  seemed  to  beckon.  Audrey  went  not  on  to  her 
attic  room,  but  to  the  window,  and  in  doing  so  passed 
a  small  half-open  door.  As  she  went  by  she  glanced 
through  the  aperture,  and  saw  that  there  was  a  nar 
row  stairway,  built  for  the  servants'  use,  winding 
down  to  a  door  in  the  western  face  of  the  house. 

Once  at  the  open  window,  she  leaned  forth  and 
looked  to  the  east  and  the  west.  The  hush  of  the 
evening  had  fallen ;  the  light  was  faint ;  above  the 
last  rose  flush  a  great  star  palely  shone.  All  was 


356  AUDREY 

quiet,  deserted  ;  nothing  stirring  on  the  leaf-carpeted 
slope ;  no  sound  save  the  distant  singing  of  the  slaves. 
The  river  lay  bare  from  shore  to  shore,  save  where  the 
Westover  landing  stretched  raggedly  into  the  flood. 
To  its  piles  small  boats  were  tied,  but  there  seemed  to 
be  no  boatmen ;  wharf  and  river  appeared  as  barren 
of  movement  and  life  as  did  the  long  expanse  of 
dusky  lawn. 

44 1  will  not  sleep  in  this  house  to-night,"  said  Au 
drey  to  herself.  "  If  I  can  reach  those  boats  unseen, 
I  will  go  alone  down  the  river.  That  will  be  well.  I 
am  not  wanted  here." 

When  she  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  narrow  stair, 
she  slipped  through  the  door  into  a  world  all  dusk  and 
quiet,  where  was  none  to  observe  her,  none  to  stay  her. 
Crouching  by  the  wall  she  crept  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  stole  around  the  stone  steps  where,  that  morn 
ing,  she  had  sat  in  the  sunshine,  and  came  to  the  par 
lor  windows.  Close  beneath  one  was  a  block  of  stone. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation  she  stood  upon  this,  and, 
pressing  her  face  against  the  window  pane,  looked  her 
last  upon  the  room  she  had  so  lately  left.  A  low  fire 
upon  the  hearth,  darkly  illumined  it :  he  sat  by  the 
table,  with  his  arms  outstretched  and  his  head  bowed 
upon  them.  Audrey  dropped  from  the  stone  into  the 
ever  growing  shadows,  crossed  the  lawn,  slipped  below 
the  bank,  and  took  her  way  along  the  river  edge  to 
the  long  landing.  When  she  was  half  way  down  its 
length,  she  saw  that  there  was  a  canoe  which  she  had 
not  observed  and  that  it  held  one  man,  who  sat  with 
his  back  to  the  shore.  With  a  quick  breath  of  dismay 
she  stood  still,  then  setting  her  lips  went  on ;  for  the 
more  she  thought  of  having  to  see  those  two  again, 
Evelyn  and  the  master  of  Fair  View,  the  stronger 


SANCTUARY  357 

grew  her  determination  to  commence  her  backward 
journey  alone  and  at  once. 

She  had  almost  reached  the  end  of  the  wharf  when 
the  man  in  the  boat  stood  up  and  faced  her.  It  was 
Hugon.  The  dusk  was  not  so  great  but  that  the  two, 
the  hunter  and  his  quarry,  could  see  each  other  plainly. 
The  latter  turned  with  the  sob  of  a  stricken  deer,  but 
the  impulse  to  flight  lasted  not.  Where  might  she 
go  ?  Run  blindly,  north  or  east  or  west,  through  the 
fields  of  Westover?  That  would  shortly  lead  to 
cowering  in  some  wood  or  swamp  while  the  feet  of 
the  searchers  came  momently  nearer.  Return  to  the 
house,  stand  at  bay  once  more  ?  With  all  her  strength 
of  soul  she  put  this  course  from  her. 

The  quick  strife  in  her  mind  ended  in  her  moving 
slowly,  as  though  drawn  by  an  invisible  hand,  to  the 
edge  of  the  wharf,  above  Hugon  and  his  canoe.  She 
did  not  wonder  to  see  him  there.  Every  word  that 
Haward  had  spoken  in  the  Westover  parlor  was 
burned  upon  her  brain,  and  he  had  said  that  he  had 
come  up  river  with  an  Indian.  This  was  the  Indian, 
and  to  hunt  her  down  those  two  had  joined  forces. 

"  Ma'm'selle  Audrey,"  whispered  the  trader,  staring 
as  at  a  spirit. 

"Yes,  Jean  Hugon,"  she  answered,  and  looked 
down  the  glimmering  reaches  of  the  James,  then  at 
the  slender  canoe  and  the  deep  and  dark  water  that 
flowed  between  the  piles.  In  the  slight  craft,  with  that 
strong  man  the  river  for  ally,  she  were  safe  as  in  a 
tower  of  brass. 

"  I  am  going  home,  Jean,"  she  said.  "  Will  you 
row  me  down  the  river  to-night,  and  tell  me  as  we  go 
your  stories  of  the  woods  and  your  father's  glories  in 
France?  If  you  speak  of  other  things  I  will  drown 


358  AUDREY 

myself,  for  I  am  tired  of  hearing  them.  In  the  morn 
ing  we  will  stop  at  some  landing  for  food,  and  then 
go  on  again.  Let  us  hasten  "  — 

The  trader  moistened  his  lips.  "And  him,"  he 
demanded  hoarsely,  —  "that  Englishman,  that  Mar- 
maduke  Haward  of  Fair  View,  who  came  to  me  and 
said,  '  Half-breed,  seeing  that  an  Indian  and  a  blood 
hound  have  gifts  in  common,  we  will  take  up  the 
quest  together.  Find  her,  though  it  be  to  lose  her  to 
me  that  same  hour !  And  look  that  in  our  travels  you 
try  no  foul  play,  for  this  time  I  go  armed/  —  what;  of 
him?" 

Audrey  waved  her  hand  toward  the  house  she  had 
left.  "  He  is  there.  Let  us  make  haste."  As  she 
spoke  she  descended  the  steps,  and,  evading  his  eager 
hand,  stepped  into  the  canoe.  He  looked  at  her 
doubtfully,  half  afraid,  so  strange  was  it  to  see  her  sit 
ting  there,  so  like  a  spirit  from  the  land  beyond  the 
sun,  a  revenant  out  of  one  of  old  Pierre's  wild  tales, 
had  she  come  upon  him.  With  quickened  breath  he 
loosed  the  canoe  from  its  mooring  and  took  up  the 
paddle.  A  moment,  and  they  were  quit  of  the  West- 
over  landing  and  embarked  upon  a  strange  journey, 
during  which  hour  after  hour  Hugon  made  wild  love, 
and  hour  after  hour  Audrey  opened  not  her  lips.  As 
the  canoe  went  swiftly  down  the  flood,  lights  sprung 
up  in  the  house  it  was  leaving  behind.  A  man,  rising 
from  his  chair  with  a  heavy  sigh,  walked  to  the  parlor 
window  and  looked  out  upon  lawn  and  sky  and  river, 
but,  so  dark  had  it  grown,  saw  not  the  canoe ;  thought 
only  how  deserted,  how  desolate  and  lonely,  was  the 
scene. 

In  Williamsburgh  as  at  Westover  the  autumn  was 


SANCTUARY  359 

dying,  the  winter  was  coming,  but  neither  farewell 
nor  greeting  perturbed  the  cheerful  town.  To  and  fro 
through  Palace  and  Nicholson  and  Duke  of  Gloucester 
streets  were  blown  the  gay  leaves ;  of  early  mornings 
white  frosts  lay  upon  the  earth  like  fairy  snows,  but 
midday  and  afternoon  were  warm  and  bright.  Mis 
tress  Stagg's  garden  lay  to  the  south,  and  in  sheltered 
corners  bloomed  marigolds  and  asters,  while  a  vine, 
red-leafed  and  purple-berried,  made  a  splendid  mantle 
for  the  playhouse  wall. 

Within  the  theatre  a  rehearsal  of  "Tamerlane''  was 
in  progress.  Turk  and  Tartar  spoke  their  minds,  and 
Arpasia's  death  cry  clave  the  air.  The  victorious 
Emperor  passed  final  sentence  upon  Bajazet ;  then, 
chancing  to  glance  toward  the  wide  door,  suddenly 
abdicated  his  throne,  and  in  the  character  of  Mr. 
Charles  Stagg  blew  a  kiss  to  his  wife,  who,  applauding 
softly,  stood  in  the  opening  that  was  framed  by  the 
red  vine. 

"  Have  you  done,  my  dear  ? "  she  cried.  "  Then 
pray  come  with  me  a  moment !  " 

The  two  crossed  the  garden,  and  entered  the  grape 
arbor  where  in  September  Mistress  Stagg  had  enter 
tained  her  old  friend,  my  Lady  Squander's  sometime 
waiting-maid.  Now  the  vines  were  bare  of  leaves, 
and  the  sunshine  streaming  through  lay  in  a  flood 
upon  the  earth.  Mary  Stagg's  chair  was  set  in  that 
golden  warmth,  and  upon  the  ground  beside  it  had 
fallen  some  bright  sewing.  The  silken  stuff  touched 
a  coarser  cloth,  and  that  was  the  skirt  of  Darden's 
Audrey,  who  sat  upon  the  ground  asleep,  with  her 
arm  across  the  chair,  and  her  head  upon  her  arm. 

"  How  came  she  here  ? "  demanded  Mr.  Sta^g  at 
last,  when  he  had  given  a  tragedy  start,  folded  his 
arms,  and  bent  his  brows. 


360  AUDREY 

"She  ran  away,"  answered  Mistress  Stagg,  in  a 
low  voice,  drawing  her  spouse  to  a  little  distance  from 
the  sleeping  figure.  "  She  ran  away  from  the  glebe 
house  and  went  up  the  river,  wanting  —  the  Lord 
knows  why  !  —  to  reach  the  mountains.  Something 
happened  to  bring  her  to  her  senses,  and  she  turned 
back,  and  falling  in  with  that  trader,  Jean  Hugon, 
he  brought  her  to  Jamestown  in  his  canoe.  She 
walked  from  there  to  the  glebe  house,  —  that  was  yes 
terday.  The  minister  was  away,  and  Deborah,  being 
in  one  of  her  passions,  would  not  let  her  in.  She  's 
that  hard,  is  Deborah,  when  she 's  angry,  harder  than 
the  nether  millstone  !  The  girl  lay  in  the  woods  last 
night.  I  vow  I  '11  never  speak  again  to  Deborah,  not 
though  there  were  twenty  Baths  behind  us !  "  Mis 
tress  Stagg's  voice  began  to  tremble.  "  I  was  sitting 
sewing  in  that  chair,  now  listening  to  your  voices  in 
the  theatre,  and  now  harking  back  in  my  mind  to 
old  days  when  we  were  n't  prosperous  like  we  are  now. 
.  .  .  And  at  last  I  got  to  thinking  of  the  babe,  Charles, 
and  how,  if  she  had  lived  and  grown  up,  I  might  ha* 
sat  there  sewing  a  pretty  gown  for  my  own  child,  and 
how  happy  I  would  have  made  her.  I  tried  to  see  her 
standing  beside  me,  laughing,  pretty  as  a  rose,  wait 
ing  for  me  to  take  the  last  stitch.  It  got  so  real  that 
I  raised  my  head  to  tell  my  dead  child  how  I  was  go 
ing  to  knot  her  ribbons,  .  .  .  and  there  was  this  girl 
looking  at  me !  " 

"  What,  Millamant !  a  tear,  my  soul  ?  "  cried  the 
theatric  Mr.  Stagg. 

Millamant  wiped  away  the  tear.  "  I  '11  tell  you 
what  she  said.  She  just  said  :  '  You  were  kind  to  me 
when  I  was  here  before,  but  if  you  tell  me  to  go  away 
I  '11  go.  You  need  not  say  it  loudly,'  And  then  she 


SANCTUARY  361 

almost  fell,  and  I  put  out  my  arm  and  caught  her ; 
and  presently  she  was  on  her  knees  there  beside  me, 
with  her  head  in  my  lap.  .  .  .  And  then  we  talked 
together  for  a  while.  It  was  mostly  me  —  she  did  n't 
say  much  —  but,  Charles,  the  girl 's  done  no  wrong, 
no  more  than  our  child  that 's  dead  and  in  Christ's 
bosom.  She  was  so  tired  and  worn.  I  got  some  milk 
and  gave  it  to  her,  and  directly  she  went  to  sleep  like 
a  baby,  with  her  head  on  my  knee." 

The  two  went  closer,  and  looked  down  upon  the 
slender  form  and  still,  dark  face.  The  sleeper's  rest 
was  deep.  A  tress  of  hair,  fallen  from  its  fastening, 
swept  her  cheek ;  Mistress  Stagg,  stooping,  put  it  in 
place  behind  the  small  ear,  then  straightened  herself 
and  pressed  her  Mirabell's  arm. 

"  Well,  my  love,"  quoth  that  gentleman,  clearing 
his  throat.  "  '  Great  minds,  like  Heaven,  are  pleased 
in  doing  good.'  My  Millamant,  declare  your 
thoughts !  " 

Mistress  Stagg  twisted  her  apron  hem  between 
thumb  and  finger.  "  She  's  more  than  eighteen, 
Charles,  and  anyhow,  if  I  understand  it  rightly,  she 
was  never  really  bound  to  Darden.  The  law  has  no 
hold  on  her,  for  neither  vestry  nor  Orphan  Court  had 
anything  to  do  with  placing  her  with  Darden  and 
Deborah.  She  's  free  to  stay." 

"  Free  to  stay  ?  "  queried  Charles,  and  took  a  pro 
digious  pinch  of  snuff.  "  To  stay  with  us  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  his  wife,  and  stole  a  persuasive 
hand  into  that  of  her  helpmate.  "  Oh,  Charles,  my 
heart  went  out  to  her  1  I  made  her  so  beautiful  once, 
and  I  could  do  it  again  and  all  the  time.  Don't  you 
think  her  prettier  than  was  Jane  Day  ?  And  she  's 
graceful,  and  that  quick  to  learn !  You  're  such  a 


362  AUDREY 

teacher,  Charles,  and  I  know  she  'd  do  her  best.  •  •  - 
Perhaps,  after  all,  there  would  be  no  need  to  send 
away  to  Bristol  for  one  to  take  Jane's  place." 

"  H'm  !  "  said  the  great  man  thoughtfully,  and  bit 
a  curl  of  Tamerlane's  vast  periwig.  "  'T  is  true  I 
esteem  her  no  dullard,"  he  at  last  vouchsafed  :  "  true 
also  that  she  hath  beauty.  In  fine,  solely  to  give  thee 
pleasure,  my  Millamant,  I  will  give  the  girl  a  trial  no 
later  than  this  very  afternoon." 

Audrey  stirred  in  her  sleep,  spoke  Haward's  name, 
and  sank  again  to  rest.  Mr.  Stagg  took  a  second 
pinch  of  snuff.  "  There 's  the  scandal,  my  love.  His 
Excellency  the  Governor's  ball,  Mr.  Eliot's  sermon, 
Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward's  illness  and  subsequent 
duels  with  Mr.  Everard  and  Mr.  Travis,  are  in  no 
danger  of  being  forgotten.  If  this  girl  ever  comes  to 
the  speaking  of  an  epilogue,  there  '11  be  in  Williams- 
burgh  a  nine  days'  wonder  indeed  !  " 

"  The  wonder  would  not  hurt,"  said  Mistress  Stagg 
simply. 

"  Far  from  it,  my  dear,"  agreed  Mr.  Stagg,  and 
closing  his  snuffbox,  went  with  a  thoughtful  brow 
back  to  the  playhouse  and  the  Tartar  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXVH 

THE  MISSION  OF  TRUELOVE 

MISTRESS  TRUELOVE  TABERER,  having  read  in  a 
very  clear  and  gentle  voice  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
to  those  placid  Friends,  Tobias  and  Martha  Taberer, 
closed  the  book,  and  went  about  her  household  affairs 
with  a  quiet  step,  but  a  heart  that  somehow  fluttered 
at  every  sound  without  the  door.  To  still  it  she  be 
gan  to  repeat  to  herself  words  she  had  read :  "  Blessed 
are  the  peacemakers,  for  they  shall  be  called  the  chil 
dren  of  God  .  .  .  blessed  are  the  peacemakers  "  — 

Winter  sunshine  poured  in  at  the  windows  and 
door.  Truelove,  kneeling  to  wipe  a  fleck  of  dust  from 
her  wheel,,  suddenly,  with  a  catch  of  her  breath  and  a 
lifting  of  her  brown  eyes,  saw  in  the  Scripture  she  had 
been  repeating  a  meaning  and  application  hitherto 
unexpected.  "  The  peacemaker  .  .  .  that  is  one  who 
makes  peace,  —  in  the  world,  between  countries,  in 
families,  yea,  in  the  heart  of  one  alone.  Did  he  not 
say,  last  time  he  came,  that  with  me  he  forgot  this 
naughty  world  and  all  its  strife ;  that  if  I  were  always 
with  him  "  — 

Truelove's  countenance  became  exalted,  her  gaze 
fixed.  "  If  it  were  a  call "  —  she  murmured,  and  for 
a  moment  bowed  her  head  upon  the  wheel ;  then  rose 
from  her  knees  and  went  softly  through  the  morning 
tasks.  When  they  were  over,  she  took  down  from  a 
peg  and  put  on  a  long  gray  cloak  and  a  gray  hood 


364  AUDREY 

that  most  becomingly  framed  her  wild-rose  face  ;  then 
eame  and  stood  before  her  father  and  mother.  "I 
am  going  forth  to  walk  by  the  creekside,"  she  said, 
in  her  sweet  voice.  "  It  may  be  that  I  will  meet  An 
gus  MacLean." 

"  If  thee  does,"  answered  one  tranquil  Friend,  "  thee 
may  tell  him  that  upon  next  seventh  day  meeting  will 
be  held  in  this  house." 

"  Truly,"  said  the  other  tranquil  Frbnd,  "  my 
heart  is  drawn  toward  that  young  man.  His  mind 
hath  been  filled  with  anger  and  resistance  and  the 
turmoil  of  the  world.  It  were  well  if  he  found  peace 
at  last." 

"  Surely  it  were  well,"  agreed  Truelove  sweetly,  and 
went  out  into  the  crisp  winter  weather. 

The  holly,  the  pine,  and  the  cedar  made  green  places 
in  the  woods,  and  the  multitude  of  leaves  underfoot 
were  pleasant  to  tread.  Clouds  were  in  the  sky,  but 
the  spaces  between  were  of  serenest  blue,  and  in  the 
sunshine  the  creek  flashed  diamonds.  Truelove  stood 
upon  the  bank,  and,  with  her  hand  shading  her  eyes, 
watched  MacLean  rowing  toward  her  up  the  creek. 

When  he  had  fastened  his  boat  and  taken  her  hand, 
the  two  walked  soberly  on  beside  the  sparkling  water 
until  they  came  to  a  rude  seat  built  beneath  an  oak- 
tree,  to  which  yet  clung  a  number  of  brown  leaves. 
Truelove  sat  down,  drawing  her  cloak  about  her,  for, 
though  the  sun  shone,  the  air  was  keen.  MacLean 
took  off  his  coat,  and  kneeling  put  it  beneath  her  feet. 
He  laughed  at  her  protest.  "  Why,  these  winds  are 
not  bleak !  "  he  said.  "  This  land  knows  no  true  and 
honest  cold.  In  my  country,  night  after  night  have 
I  lain  in  snow  with  only  my  plaid  for  cover,  and  heard 
the  spirits  call  in  the  icy  wind,  the  kelpie  shriek  be- 


THE  MISSION  OF  TRUELOVE  365 

neath  the  frozen  loch.  I  listened ;  then  shut  my 
eyes  and  dreamed  warm  of  glory  and  —  true  love." 

"  Thy  coat  is  new/'  said  Truelove,  with  downcast 
eyes.  "  The  earth  will  stain  the  good  cloth." 

MacLean  laughed.  "  Then  will  I  wear  it  stained, 
as  't  is  said  a  courtier  once  wore  his  cloak." 

"  There  is  lace  upon  it,"  said  Truelove  timidly. 

MacLean  turned  with  a  smile,  and  laid  a  fold  of 
her  cloak  against  his  dark  cheek.  "  Ah,  the  lace 
offends  you,  —  offends  thee,  —  Truelove.  Why,  't  is 
but  to  mark  me  a  gentleman  again  !  Last  night,  at 
Williamsburgh,  I  supped  with  Haward  and  some 
gentlemen  of  Virginia.  He  would  have  me  don  this 
suit.  I  might  not  disoblige  my  friend." 

"  Thee  loves  it,"  said  Truelove  severely.  "  Thee 
loves  the  color,  and  the  feel  of  the  fine  cloth,  and  the 
ruffles  at  thy  wrists." 

The  Highlander  laughed.  "  Why,  suppose  that  I 
do  !  Look,  Truelove,  how  brave  and  red  are  those 
holly  berries,  and  how  green  and  fantastically  twisted 
the  leaves !  The  sky  is  a  bright  blue,  and  the  clouds 
are  silver ;  and  think  what  these  woods  will  be  when 
the  winter  is  past !  One  might  do  worse,  meseems, 
than  to  be  of  God's  taste  in  such  matters." 

Truelove  sighed,  and  drew  her  gray  cloak  more 
closely  around  her. 

"  Thee  is  in  spirits  to-day,  Angus  MacLean,"  she 
said,  and  sighed  once  more. 

"  I  am  free,"  he  answered.  "  The  man  within  me 
walks  no  longer  with  a  hanging  head." 

"  And  what  will  thee  do  with  thy  freedom  ?  " 

The  Highlander  made  no  immediate  reply,  but,  chin 
in  hand,  studied  the  drifts  of  leaves  and  the  slow- 
moving  water.  "  I  am  free,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I 


366  AUDREY 

wear  to-day  the  dress  of  a  gentleman.  I  could  walk 
without  shame  into  a  hall  that  I  know,  and  find  there 
strangers,  standers  in  dead  men's  shoon,  brothers  who 
want  me  not,  —  who  would  say  behind  their  hands, 
'  He  has  been  twelve  years  a  slave,  and  the  world  has 
changed  since  he  went  away  !'...!  will  not  trouble 
them." 

His  face  was  as  sombre  as  when  Truelove  first  be 
held  it.  Suddenly,  and  against  her  will,  tears  came 
to  her  eyes.  "I  am  glad — I  and  my  father  and 
mother  and  Ephraim  —  that  thee  goes  not  overseas, 
Angus  MacLean,"  said  the  dove's  voice.  "  We  would 
have  thee  —  I  and  my  father  and  mother  and  Ephraim 
—  we  would  have  thee  stay  in  Virginia." 

"  I  am  to  stay,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  felt  no 
shame  in  taking  a  loan  from  my  friend,  for  I  shall 
repay  it.  He  hath  lands  up  river  in  a  new-made 
county.  I  am  to  seat  them  for  him,  and  there  will 
be  my  home.  I  will  build  a  house  and  name  it  Duart ; 
and  if  there  are  hills  they  shall  be  Dim-da-gu  and 
Grieg,  and  the  sound  of  winter  torrents  shall  be  to  me 
as  the  sound  of  the  waters  of  Mull." 

Truelove  caught  her  breath.  "  Thee  will  be  lonely 
in  those  forests." 

"  I  am  used  to  loneliness." 

"  There  be  Indians  on  the  frontier.  They  burn 
houses  and  carry  away  prisoners.  And  there  are 
wolves  and  dangerous  beasts  "  — 

"  I  am  used  to  danger." 

Truelove's  voice  trembled  more  and  more.  "  And 
thee  must  dwell  among  negroes  and  rude  men,  with 
none  to  comfort  thy  soul,  none  to  whom  thee  can 
speak  in  thy  dark  hours  ?  " 

"  Before  now  I  have  spoken  to  the  tobacco  I  have 


THE  MISSION  OF  TRUELOVE  367 

planted,  the  trees  I  have  felled,  the  swords  and  mus 
kets  I  have  sold." 

"  But  at  last  thee  came  and  spoke  to  me  !  " 

"  Ay,"  he  answered.  "  There  have  been  times 
when  you  saved  my  soul  alive.  Now,  in  the  forest,  in 
my  house  of  logs,  when  the  day's  work  is  done,  and  I 
sit  upon  my  doorstep  and  begin  to  hear  the  voices  of 
the  past  crying  to  me  like  the  spirits  in  the  valley  of 
Glensyte,  I  will  think  of  you  instead." 

"Oh!"  cried  Truelove.  "Speak  to  me  instead, 
and  I  will  speak  to  thee  .  .  .  sitting  upon  the  door 
step  of  our  house,  when  our  day's  work  is  done !  " 

Her  hood  falling  back  showed  her  face,  clear  pink, 
with  dewy  eyes.  The  carnation  deepening  from  brow 
to  throat,  and  the  tears  trembling  upon  her  long 
lashes,  she  suddenly  hid  her  countenance  in  her  gray 
cloak.  MacLean,  on  his  knees  beside  her,  drew  away 
the  folds.  "  Truelove,  Truelove  !  do  you  know  what 
you  have  said  ?  " 

Truelove  put  her  hand  upon  her  heart.  "  Oh,  I 
fear,"  she  whispered,  "  I  fear  that  I  have  asked  thee, 
Angus  MacLean,  to  let  me  be  —  to  let  me  be  —  thy 
wife." 

The  water  shone,  and  the  holly  berries  were  gay, 
and  a  robin  redbreast  sang  a  cheerful  song.  Beneath 
the  rustling  oak-tree  there  was  ardent  speech  on  the 
part  of  MacLean,  who  found  in  his  mistress  a  listener 
sweet  and  shy,  and  not  garrulous  of  love.  But  her 
eyes  dwelt  upon  him  and  her  hand  rested  at  ease 
within  his  clasp,  and  she  liked  to  hear  him  speak  of 
the  home  they  were  to  make  in  the  wilderness.  It 
was  to  be  thus,  and  thus,  and  thus !  With  impas 
sioned  eloquence  the  Gael  adorned  the  shrine  and 
advanced  the  merit  of  the  divinity,  and  the  divinity 


368  AUDREY 

listened  with  a  smile,  a  blush,  a  tear,  and  now  and 
then  a  meek  rebuke. 

When  an  hour  had  passed,  the  sun  went  under  a 
cloud  and  the  air  grew  colder.  The  bird  had  flown 
away,  but  in  the  rising  wind  the  dead  leaves  rustled 
loudly.  MacLean  and  Truelove,  leaving  their  future 
of  honorable  toil,  peace  of  mind,  and  enduring  affec 
tion,  came  back  to  the  present. 

"  I  must  away,"  said  the  Highlander.  "  Haward 
waits  for  me  at  Williamsburgh.  To-morrow,  dearer 
to  me  than  Deirdre  to  Naos !  I  will  come  again." 

Hand  in  hand  the  two  walked  slowly  toward  that 
haunt  of  peace,  Truelove's  quiet  home.  "And  Mar- 
maduke  Haward  awaits  thee  at  Williamsburgh  ?  "  said 
the  Quakeress.  "  Last  third  day  he  met  my  father 
and  me  on  the  Fair  View  road,  and  checked  his  horse 
and  spoke  to  us.  He  is  changed." 

"  Changed  indeed !  "  quoth  the  Highlander.  "  A 
fire  burns  him,  a  wind  drives  him;  and  yet  to  the 
world,  last  night "  —  He  paused. 

"  Last  night  ?  "  said  Truelove. 

"He  had  a  large  company  at  Marot's  ordinary," 
went  on  the  other.  "  There  were  the  Governor  and 
his  fellow  Councilors,  with,  others  of  condition  or 
fashion.  He  was  the  very  fine  gentleman,  the  perfect 
host,  free,  smiling,  full  of  wit.  But  I  had  been  with 
him  before  they  came.  I  knew  the  fires  beneath." 

The  two  walked  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  when 
MacLean  spoke  again :  "  He  drank  to  her.  At  the 
last,  when  this  lady  had  been  toasted,  and  that,  he 
rose  and  drank  to  '  Audrey,'  and  threw  his  wineglass 
over  his  shoulder.  He  hath  done  what  he  could. 
The  world  knows  that  he  loves  her  honorably,  seeks 
her  vainly  in  marriage.  Something  more  I  know. 


THE  MISSION  OF  TRUELOVE  369 

He  gathered  the  company  together  last  evening  that, 
as  his  guests,  the  highest  officers,  the  finest  gentlemen 
of  the  colony,  should  go  with  him  to  the  theatre  to  see 
her  for  the  first  time  as  a  player.  Being  what  they 
were,  and  his  guests,  and  his  passion  known,  he  would 
insure  for  her,  did  she  well  or  did  she  ill,  order,  in 
terest,  decent  applause."  MacLean  broke  off  with  a 
short,  excited  laugh.  "  It  was  not  needed,  —  his 
mediation.  But  he  could  not  know  that ;  no,  nor 
none  of  us.  True,  Stagg  and  his  wife  had  bragged  of 
the  powers  of  this  strangely  found  actress  of  theirs 
that  they  were  training  to  do  great  things,  but  folk 
took  it  for  a  trick  of  their  trade.  Oh,  there  was 
curiosity  enough,  but 't  was  on  Haward's  account.  .  .  . 
Well,  he  drank  to  her,  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
table  at  Marot's  ordinary,  and  the  glass  crashed  over 
his  shoulder,  and  we  all  went  to  the  play." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  Truelove,  breathing  quickly,  and 
quite  forgetting  how  great  a  vanity  was  under  discus 
sion. 

"  'T  was  *  Tamerlane,'  the  play  that  this  traitorous 
generation  calls  for  every  5th  of  November.  It  seems 
that  the  Governor  —  a  Whig  as  rank  as  Argyle  —  had 
ordered  it  again  for  this  week.  5T  is  a  cursed  piece 
of  slander  that  pictures  the  Prince  of  Orange  a  vir 
tuous  Emperor,  his  late  Majesty  of  France  a  hateful 
tyrant.  But  for  Haward,  whose  guest  I  was,  I  had 
not  sat  there  with  closed  lips.  I  had  sprung  to  my 
feet  and  given  those  flatterers,  those  traducers,  the 
lie  !  The  thing  taunted  and  angered  until  she  entered. 
Then  I  forgot." 

"  And  she  —  and  Audrey  ?  " 

"  Arpasia  was  her  name  in  the  play.  She  entered 
late ;  her  death  came  before  the  end ;  there  was  an- 


370  AUDREY 

other  woman  who  had  more  to  do.  It  all  mattered 
not.  I  have  seen  a  great  actress." 

"  Dar den's  Audrey !  "  said  Truelove,  in  a  whisper. 

"  That  at  the  very  first ;  not  afterwards,"  answered 
MacLean.  "  She  was  dressed,  they  say,  as  upon  the 
night  at  the  Palace,  that  first  night  of  Haward's  fever. 
When  she  came  upon  the  stage,  there  was  a  murmur 
like  the  wind  in  the  leaves.  She  was  most  beautiful, 
—  'beauteous  in  hatred,'  as  the  Sultan  in  the  play 
called  her,  —  dark  and  wonderful,  with  angry  eyes. 
For  a  little  while  she  must  stand  in  silence,  and  in 
these  moments  men  and  women  stared  at  her,  then 
turned  and  looked  at  Haward.  But  when  she  spoke 
we  forgot  that  she  was  Darden's  Audrey." 

MacLean  laughed  again.  "  When  the  play  was 
ended,  —  or  rather,  when  her  part  in  it  was  done,  — 
the  house  did  shake  so  with  applause  that  Stagg  had 
to  remonstrate.  There  's  naught  talked  of  to-day  in 
Williamsburgh  but  Arpasia ;  and  when  I  came  down 
Palace  Street  this  morning,  there  was  a  great  crowd 
about  the  playhouse  door.  Stagg  might  sell  his  tickets 
for  to-night  at  a  guinea  apiece.  '  Venice  Preserved ' 
is  the  play." 

"  And  Marmaduke  Haward,  —  what  of  him  ?  "  asked 
Truelove  softly. 

"  He  is  English,"  said  MacLean,  after  a  pause. 
u  He  can  make  of  his  face  a  smiling  mask,  can  keep 
his  voice  as  even  and  as  still  as  the  pool  that  is  a  mile 
away  from  the  fierce  torrent  its  parent.  It  is  a  gift 
they  have,  the  English.  I  remember  at  Preston  "  — 
He  broke  off  with  a  sigh.  "  There  will  be  an  end 
some  day,  I  suppose.  He  will  win  her  at  last  to  his 
way  of  thinking ;  and  having  gained  her,  he  will  be 
happy.  And  yet  to  my  mind  there  is  something1 


THE  MISSION  OF  TRUELOVE  371 

unfortunate,  strange  and  fatal,  in  the  aspect  of  this 
girl.  It  hath  always  been  so.  She  is  such  a  one  as 
the  Lady  in  Green.  On  a  Halloween  night,  standing 
in  the  twelfth  rig^  a  man  might  hear  her  voice  upon 
the  wind.  I  would  old  Murdoch  of  Coll,  who  hath 
the  second  sight,  were  here :  he  could  tell  the  ending 
of  it  all." 

An  hour  later  found  the  Highlander  well  upon  his 
way  to  Williamsburgh,  walking  through  wood  and 
field  with  his  long  stride,  his  heart  warm  within  him, 
his  mind  filled  with  the  thought  of  Truelove  and  the 
home  that  he  would  make  for  her  in  the  rude,  up- 
river  country.  Since  the  two  had  sat  beneath  the 
oak,  clouds  had  gathered,  obscuring  the  sun.  It  was 
now  gray  and  cold  in  the  forest,  and  presently  snow- 
began  to  fall,  slowly,  in  large  flakes,  between  the  still 
trees. 

MacLean  looked  with  whimsical  anxiety  at  several 
white  particles  upon  his  suit  of  fine  cloth,  claret- 
colored  and  silver-laced,  and  quickened  his  pace.  But 
the  snow  was  but  the  lazy  vanguard  of  a  storm,  and  so 
few  and  harmless  were  the  flakes  that  when,  a  mile 
from  Williamsburgh  and  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  road,  MacLean  beheld  a  ring  of  figures  seated 
upon  the  ground  beneath  a  giant  elm,  he  stopped  to 
observe  who  and  what  they  were  that  sat  so  still 
beneath  the  leafless  tree  in  the  winter  weather. 

The  group,  that  at  first  glimpse  had  seemed  some 
conclave  of  beings  uncouth  and  lubberly  and  solely  of 
the  forest,  resolved  itself  into  the  Indian  teacher  and 
his  pupils,  escaped  for  the  afternoon  from  the  bounds 
of  William  and  Mary.  The  Indian  lads  —  slender, 
bronze,  and  statuesque  —  sat  in  silence,  stolidly  listen 
ing  to  the  words  of  the  white  man,  who,  standing  in 


372  AUDREY 

the  midst  of  the  ring,  with  his  back  to  the  elm-tree, 
told  to  his  dusky  charges  a  Bible  tale.  It  was  the 
story  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren.  The  clear,  gentle 
tones  of  the  teacher  reached  MacLean's  ears  where  he 
stood  unobserved  behind  a  roadside  growth  of  bay 
and  cedar. 

A  touch  upon  the  shoulder  made  him  turn,  to  find 
at  his  elbow  that  sometime  pupil  of  Mr.  Charles  Grif 
fin  in  whose  company  he  had  once  trudged  from  Fair 
View  store  to  Williamsburgh. 

"  I  was  lying  in  the  woods  over  there,"  said  Hugon 
sullenly.  "I  heard  them  coming,  and  I  took  my 
leave.  '  Peste  ! '  said  I.  *  The  old,  weak  man  who 
preaches  quietness  under  men's  injuries,  and  the  young 
wolf  pack,  all  brown,  with  Indian  names ! '  They 
may  have  the  woods ;  for  me,  I  go  back  to  the  town 
where  I  belong." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  stood  scowling  at 
the  distant  group.  MacLean,  in  his  turn,  looked  curi 
ously  at  his  quondam  companion  of  a  sunny  day  in 
May,  the  would-be  assassin  with  whom  he  had  strug 
gled  in  wind  and  rain  beneath  the  thunders  of  an 
August  storm.  The  trader  wore  his  great  wig,  his 
ancient  steinkirk  of  tawdry  lace,  his  high  boots  of 
Spanish  leather,  cracked  and  stained.  Between  the 
waves  of  coarse  hair,  out  of  coal-black,  deep-set  eyes 
looked  the  soul  of  the  half-breed,  fierce,  vengeful,  igno 
rant,  and  embittered. 

"  There  is  Meshawa,"  he  said,  —  "  Meshawa,  who 
was  a  little  boy  when  I  went  to  school,  but  who  used 
to  laugh  when  I  talked  of  France.  Pardieu !  one  day 
I  found  him  alone  when  it  was  cold,  and  there  was  a 
fire  in  the  room.  Next  time  I  talked  he  did  not 
laugh  !  They  are  all "  —  he  swept  his  hand  toward 


THE  MISSION   OF  TRUELOVE  373 

the  circle  beneath  the  elm  —  "  they  are  all  Saponies, 
Nottoways,  Meherrins ;  their  fathers  are  lovers  of  the 
peace  pipe,  and  humble  to  the  English.  A  Monacan 
is  a  great  brave  ;  he  laughs  at  the  Nottoways,  and 
says  that  there  are  no  men  in  the  villages  of  the  Me 
herrins." 

"  When  do  you  go  again  to  trade  with  your  people  ?  " 
asked  MacLean. 

Hugon  glanced  at  him  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
black  eyes.  "They  are  not  my  people;  my  people 
are  French.  I  am  not  going  to  the  woods  any  more. 
I  am  so  prosperous.  Diable !  shall  not  I  as  well  as 
another  stay  at  Williamsburgh,  dress  fine,  dwell  in  an 
ordinary,  play  high,  and  drink  of  the  best  ?  " 

"There  is  none  will  prevent  you,"  said  MacLean 
coolly.  "  Dwell  in  town,  take  your  ease  in  your  inn, 
wear  gold  lace,  stake  the  skins  of  all  the  deer  in  Vir 
ginia,  drink  Burgundy  and  Champagne,  but  lay  no 
more  arrows  athwart  the  threshold  of  a  gentleman's 
door." 

Hugon's  lips  twitched  into  a  tigerish  grimace.  "  So 
he  found  the  arrow  ?  Mortdieu  !  let  him  look  to  it 
that  one  day  the  arrow  find  not  him !  " 

"  If  I  were  Haward,"  said  MacLean,  "  I  would  have 
you  taken  up." 

The  trader  again  looked  sideways  at  the  speaker, 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  waved  his  hand.  "  Oh, 
he  —  he  despises  me  too  much  for  that !  Eh  bien ! 
to-day  I  love  to  see  him  live.  When  there  is  no  wine 
in  the  cup,  but  only  dregs  that  are  bitter,  I  laugh  to 
see  it  at  his  lips.  She,  —  Ma'm'selle  Audrey,  that 
never  before  could  I  coax  into  my  boat,  —  she  reached 
me  her  hand,  she  came  with  me  down  the  river, 
through  the  night-time,  and  left  him  behind  at  West- 


374  AUDREY 

over.  Ha !  think  you  not  that  was  bitter,  that  drink 
which  she  gave  him,  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  of  Fair 
View  ?  Since  then,  if  I  go  to  that  house,  that  garden 
at  Williainsburgh,  she  hides,  she  will  not  see  me ;  the 
man  and  his  wife  make  excuse  !  Bad !  But  also  he 
sees  her  never.  He  writes  to  her :  she  answers  not. 
Good  I  Let  him  live,  with  the  fire  built  around  him 
arid  the  splinters  in  his  heart !  " 

He  laughed  again,  and,  dismissing  the  subject  with 
airiness  somewhat  exaggerated,  drew  out  his  huge  gilt 
snuffbox.  The  snow  was  now  falling  more  thickly, 
drawing  a  white  and  fleecy  veil  between  the  two  upon 
the  road  and  the  story-teller  and  his  audience  beneath 
the  distant  elm.  "Are  you  for  Williamsburgh?" 
demanded  the  Highlander,  when  he  had  somewhat 
abruptly  declined  to  take  snuff  with  Monsieur  Jean 
Hugon. 

That  worthy  nodded,  pocketing  his  box  and  inci 
dentally  making  a  great  jingling  of  coins. 

"  Then,"  quoth  MacLean,  "  since  I  prefer  to  travel 
alone,  I  will  wait  here  until  you  have  passed  the  roll 
ing-house  in  the  distance  yonder.  Good-day  to  you !  " 

He  seated  himself  upon  the  stump  of  a  tree,  and, 
giving  all  his  attention  to  the  snow,  began  to  whistle 
a  thoughtful  air.  Hugon  glanced  at  him  with  fierce 
black  eyes  and  twitching  lips,  much  desiring  a  quarrel ; 
then  thought  better  of  it,  and  before  the  tune  had  come 
to  an  end  was  making  with  his  long  and  noiseless 
stride  his  lonely  way  to  Williamsburgh,  and  the  ordi 
nary  in  Nicholson  Street, 


CHAPTER  XXVHI 

THE  PLAYER 

ABOUT  this  time,  Mr.  Charles  Stagg,  of  the  Wil- 
liamsburgh  theatre  in  Virginia,  sent  by  the  Horn  of 
Plenty,  bound  for  London,  a  long  letter  to  an  ancient 
comrade  and  player  of  small  parts  at  Drury  Lane.  A 
few  days  later,  young  Mr.  Lee,  writing  by  the  Golden 
Lucy  to  an  agreeable  rake  of  his  acquaintance,  burst 
into  a  five-page  panegyric  upon  the  Arpasia,  the  Bel- 
videra,  the  Monimia,  who  had  so  marvelously  dawned 
upon  the  colonial  horizon.  The  recipient  of  this  com 
munication,  being  a  frequenter  of  Button's,  and  chan 
cing  one  day  to  crack  a  bottle  there  with  Mr.  Colley 
Gibber,  drew  from  his  pocket  and  read  to  that  gentle 
man  the  eulogy  of  Darden's  Audrey,  with  the  remark 
that  the  writer  was  an  Oxford  man  and  must  know 
whereof  he  wrote. 

Gibber  borrowed  the  letter,  and  the  next  day,  in  the 
company  of  Wilks  and  a  bottle  of  Burgundy,  compared 
it  with  that  of  Mr.  Charles  Stagg,  — the  latter's  corre 
spondent  having  also  brought  the  matter  to  the  great 
man's  notice. 

"  She  might  offset  that  pretty  jade  Fenton  at  the 
Fields,  eh,  Bob  ?  "  said  Gibber.  "  They  're  of  an  age. 
If  the  town  took  to  her  "  — 

"  If  her  Belvidera  made  one  pretty  fellow  weep,  why 
not  another  ?  "  added  Wilks.  "  Here  —  where  is  'fc 
lie  says  that,  when  she  went  out,  for  many  moments 


376  AUDREY 

the  pit  was  silent  as  the  grave  —  and  that  then  the  ap 
plause  was  deep  —  not  shrill  —  and  very  long  ?  'Gad, 
if  't  is  a  Barry  come  again,  and  we  could  lay  hands  on 
her,  the  house  would  be  made  !  " 

Gibber  sighed.  "  You  're  dreaming,  Bob,"  he  said 
good-humoredly.  "  'T  was  but  a  pack  of  Virginia 
planters,  noisy  over  some  belle  sauvage  with  a  ranting 
tongue." 

"  Men's  passions  are  the  same,  I  take  it,  in  Virginia 
as  in  London,"  answered  the  other.  "If  the  'belle 
sauvage  can  move  to  that  manner  of  applause  in  one 
spot  of  earth,  she  may  do  so  in  another.  And  here 
again  he  says,  '  A  dark  beauty,  with  a  strange,  allur 
ing  air  ...  a  voice  of  melting  sweetness  that  yet  can 
so  express  anguish  and  fear  that  the  bl^od  turns  cold 
and  the  heart  is  wrung  to  hear  it '  —  Zoons,  sir ! 
What  would  it  cost  to  buy  off  this  fellow  Stagg,  and 
to  bring  the  phoenix  overseas  ?  " 

"Something  more  than  a  lottery  ticket,"  laughed 
the  other,  and  beckoned  to  the  drawer.  "  We  '11  wait, 
Bob,  until  we  're  sure  't  is  a  phoenix  indeed !  There 's 
a  gentleman  in  Virginia  with  whom  I  've  some  ac 
quaintance,  Colonel  William  Byrd,  that  was  the 
colony's  agent  here.  I  '11  write  to  him  for  a  true 
account.  There 's  time  enough." 

So  thought  honest  Gibber,  and  wrote  at  leisure  to 
hig  Virginia  acquaintance.  It  made  small  difference 
whether  he  wrote  or  refrained  from  writing,  for  he  had 
naught  to  do  with  the  destinies  of  Darden's  Audrey. 
'T  was  almost  summer  before  there  came  an  answer  to 
his  letter.  He  showed  it  to  Wilks  in  the  greenroom, 
between  the  acts  of  "  The  Provoked  Husband."  Mrs. 
Oldfield  read  it  over  their  shoulders,  and  vowed  that 
't  was  a  moving  story ;  nay,  more,  in  her  next  scene 


THE  PLAYER  377 

there  was  a  moisture  in  Lady  Townly's  eyes  quite  out 
of  keeping  with  the  vivacity  of  her  lines. 

Darden's  Audrey  had  to  do  with  Virginia,  not  Lon 
don  ;  with  the  winter,  never  more  the  summer.  It  is 
not  known  how  acceptable  her  Monimia,  her  Belvidera, 
her  Isabella,  would  have  been  to  London  playgoers. 
Perhaps  they  would  have  received  them  as  did  the 
Virginians,  perhaps  not.  Gibber  himself  might  or 
might  not  have  drawn  for  us  her  portrait ;  might  or 
might  not  have  dwelt  upon  the  speaking  eye,  the  slow, 
exquisite  smile  with  which  she  made  more  sad  her 
saddest  utterances,  the  wild  charm  of  her  mirth,  her 
power  to  make  each  auditor  fear  as  his  own  the  im 
pending  harm,  the  tragic  splendor  in  which,  when  the 
bolt  had  fallen,  converged  all  the  pathos,  beauty,  and 
tenderness  of  her  earlier  scenes.  A  Virginian  of  that 
winter,  writing  of  her,  had  written  thus ;  but  then 
Williamsburgh  was  not  London,  nor  its  playhouse 
Drury  Lane.  Perhaps  upon  that  ruder  stage,  before 
an  audience  less  polite,  with  never  a  critic  in  the  pit 
or  footman  in  the  gallery,  with  no  Fops'  Corner  and 
no  great  number  of  fine  ladies  in  the  boxes,  the  jewel 
shone  with  a  lustre  that  in  a  brighter  light  it  had  not 
worn.  There  was  in  Mr.  Charles  Stagg's  company  of 
players  no  mate  for  any  gem  ;  this  one  was  set  amongst 
pebbles,  and  perhaps  by  contrast  alone  did  it  glow  so 
deeply. 

However  this  may  be,  in  Virginia,  in  the  winter 
and  the  early  spring  of  that  year  of  grace  Darden's 
Audrey  was  known,  extravagantly  praised,  toasted, 
applauded  to  the  echo.  Night  after  night  saw  the 
theatre  crowded,  gallery,  pit,  and  boxes.  Even  the 
stage  had  its  row  of  chairs,  seats  held  not  too  dear 
at  half  a  guinea.  Mr.  Stagg  had  visions  of  a  larger 


378  AUDREY 

house,  a  fuller  company,  renown  and  prosperity  un 
dreamed  of  before  that  fortunate  day  when,  in  the 
grape  arbor,  he  and  his  wife  had  stood  and  watched 
Dardeii's  Audrey  asleep,  with  her  head  pillowed  upon 
her  arm. 

Darden's  Audrey !  The  name  clung  to  her,  though 
the  minister  had  no  further  lot  or  part  in  her  fate. 
The  poetasters  called  her  Charmante,  Ainoret,  Chloe, 
—  what  not !  Young  Mr.  Lee  in  many  a  slight  and 
pleasing  set  of  verses  addressed  her  as  Sylvia,  but  to 
the  community  at  large  she  was  Darden's  Audrey,  and 
an  enigma  greater  than  the  Sphinx.  Why  would  she 
not  marry  Mr.  Marmaduke  Haward  of  Fair  View  ? 
Was  the  girl  looking  for  a  prince  to  come  overseas  for 
her?  Or  did  she  prefer  to  a  dazzling  marriage  the 
excitement  of  the  theatre,  the  adulation,  furious  ap 
plause  ?  That  could  hardly  be,  for  these  things  seemed 
to  frighten  her.  At  times  one  could  see  her  shrink 
and  grow  pale  at  some  great  clapping  or  loud  "  Again !  " 
And  only  upon  the  stage  did  the  town  behold  her. 
She  rarely  went  abroad,  and  at  the  small  white  house 
in  Palace  Street  she  was  denied  to  visitors.  True, 
't  was  the  way  to  keep  upon  curiosity  the  keenest  edge, 
to  pique  interest  and  send  the  town  to  the  playhouse 
as  the  one  point  of  view  from  which  the  riddle  might 
be  studied.  But  wisdom  such  as  this  could  scarce  be 
expected  of  the  girl.  Given,  then,  that  't  was  not  her 
vanity  which  kept  her  Darden's  Audrey,  what  was  it  ? 
Was  not  Mr.  Haward  of  Fair  View  rich,  handsome,  a 
very  fine  gentleman  ?  Generous,  too,  for  had  he  not 
sworn,  as  earnestly  as  though  he  expected  to  be  be 
lieved,  that  the  girl  was  pure  innocence  ?  His  hand 
was  ready  to  his  sword,  nor  were  men  anxious  to  incur 
his  cold  enmity,  so  that  the  assertion  passed  without 


THE  PLAYER  379 

open  challenge,  He  was  mad  for  her,  —  that  was 
plain  enough.  And  she,  —  well  she  ?s  woman  and 
Darden's  Audrey,  and  so  doubly  an  enigma.  In  the 
mean  time,  to-night  she  plays  Monimia,  and  her  mad 
ness  makes  you  weep,  so  sad  it  is,  so  hopeless,  and  so 
piercing  sweet. 

In  this  new  world  that  was  so  strange  to  her  Dar- 
den's  Audrey  bore  herself  as  best  she  might.  While 
it  was  day  she  kept  within  the  house,  where  the  room 
that  in  September  she  had  shared  with  Mistress  Debo 
rah  was  now  for  her  alone.  Hour  after  hour  she  sat 
there,  book  in  hand,  learning  how  those  other  women, 
those  women  of  the  past,  had  loved,  had  suffered,  had 
fallen  to  dusty  death.  Other  hours  she  spent  with 
Mr.  Charles  Stagg  in  the  long  room  downstairs,  or, 
when  Mistress  Stagg  had  customers,  in  the  theatre 
itself.  As  in  the  branded  schoolmaster  chance  had 
given  her  a  teacher  skilled  in  imparting  knowledge, 
so  in  this  small  and  pompous  man,  who  beneath  a  garb 
of  fustian  hugged  to  himself  a  genuine  reverence  and 
understanding  of  his  art,  she  found  an  instructor  more 
able,  perhaps,  than  had  been  a  greater  actor.  In  the 
chill  and  empty  playhouse,  upon  the  narrow  stage 
where,  sitting  in  the  September  sunshine,  she  had 
asked  of  Haward  her  last  favor,  she  now  learned  to 
speak  for  those  sisters  of  her  spirit,  those  dead  women 
who  through  rapture,  agony,  and  madness  had  sunk 
to  their  long  rest,  had  given  their  hands  to  death  and 
lain  down  in  a  common  inn.  To  Audrey  they  were 
real ;  she  was  free  of  their  company.  The  shadows 
were  the  people  who  lived  and  were  happy  ;  who  night 
after  night  came  to  watch  a  soul  caught  in  the  toils, 
to  thunder  applause  when  death  with  rude  and  hasty 
hands  broke  the  net,  set  free  the  prisoner. 


380  AUBREY 

The  girl  dreamed  as  she  breathed.  Wakened  from 
a  long,  long  fantasy,  desolate  and  cold  to  the  heart  in 
an  alien  air,  she  sought  for  poppy  and  mandragora, 
and  in  some  sort  finding  them  dreamed  again,  though 
not  for  herself,  not  as  before.  It  can  hardly  be  said 
that  she  was  unhappy.  She  walked  in  a  pageant  of 
strange  miseries,  and  the  pomp  of  woe  was  hers  to 
portray.  Those  changelings  from  some  fateful  land, 
those  passionate,  pale  women,  the  milestones  of  whose 
pilgrimage  spelled  love,  ruin,  despair,  and  death,  they 
were  her  kindred,  her  sisters.  Day  and  night  they 
kept  her  company  ;  and  her  own  pain  lessened,  grew 
at  last  to  a  still  and  dreamy  sorrow,  never  absent, 
never  poignant. 

Of  necessity,  importunate  grief  was  drugged  to 
sleep.  In  the  daylight  hours  she  must  study,  must 
rehearse  with  her  fellow  players ;  when  night  came 
she  put  on  a  beautiful  dress,  and  to  lights  and  music 
and  loud  applause  there  entered  Monimia,  or  Belvi- 
dera,  or  Athenais.  When  the  play  was  done  and  the 
curtain  fallen,  the  crowd  of  those  who  would  have 
stayed  her  ever  gave  way,  daunted  by  her  eyes,  her 
closed  lips,  the  atmosphere  that  yet  wrapped  her  of 
passion,  woe,  and  exaltation,  the  very  tragedy  of  the 
soul  that  she  had  so  richly  painted.  Like  the  ghost 
of  that  woman  who  had  so  direfully  loved  and  died, 
she  was  wont  to  slip  from  the  playhouse,  through  the 
dark  garden,  to  the  small  white  house  and  her  quiet 
room.  There  she  laid  off  her  gorgeous  dress,  and 
drew  the  ornaments  from  her  dark  hair  that  was  long 
as  Molly's  had  been  that  day  beneath  the  sugar-tree 
iii  the  far-away  valley. 

She  rarely  thought  of  Molly  now,  or  of  the  moun 
tains.  With  her  hair  shadowing  her  face  and  stream- 


THE  PLAYER  381 

ing  over  bared  neck  and  bosom  she  sat  before  her  mir 
ror.  The  candle  burned  low ;  the  face  in  the  glass 
seemed  not  her  own.  Dim,  pale,  dark-eyed,  patient- 
lipped  at  last,  out  of  a  mist  and  from  a  great  distance 
the  other  woman  looked  at  her.  Far  countries,  the 
burning  noonday  and  utter  love,  night  and  woe  and 
life,  the  broken  toy,  flung  with  haste  away  !  The  mist 
thickened ;  the  face  withdrew,  farther,  farther  off ; 
the  candle  burned  low.  Audrey  put  out  the  weak 
flame,  and  laid  herself  upon  the  bed.  Sleep  came 
soon,  and  it  was  still  and  dreamless.  Sometimes 
Mary  Stagg,  light  in  hand,  stole  into  the  room  and 
stood  above  the  quiet  form.  The  girl  hardly  seemed 
to  breathe  :  she  had  a  fashion  of  lying  with  crossed 
hands  and  head  drawn  slightly  back,  much  as  she 
might  be  laid  at  last  in  her  final  bed.  Mistress  Stagg 
put  out  a  timid  hand  and  felt  the  flesh  if  it  were 
warm  ;  then  bent  and  lightly  kissed  hand  or  arm  or 
the  soft  curve  of  the  throat.  Audrey  stirred  not,  and 
the  other  went  noiselessly  away ;  or  Audrey  opened 
dark  eyes,  faintly  smiled  and  raised  herself  to  meet 
the  half-awed  caress,  then  sank  to  rest  again. 

Into  Mistress  Stagg's  life  had  struck  a  shaft  of  col 
ored  light,  had  come  a  note  of  strange  music,  had 
flown  a  bird  of  paradise.  It  was  and  it  was  not  her 
dead  child  come  again.  She  knew  that  her  Lucy  had 
never  been  thus,  and  the  love  that  she  gave  Audrey 
was  hardly  mother  love.  It  was  more  nearly  an 
homage,  which,  had  she  tried,  she  could  not  have  ex 
plained.  When  they  were  alone  together,  Audrey 
called  the  older  woman  "  mother,"  often  knelt  and 
laid  her  head  upon  the  other's  lap  or  shoulder.  In 
all  her  ways  she  was  sweet  and  duteous,  grateful  and 
eager  to  serve.  But  her  spirit  dwelt  in  a  rarer  air, 


382  AUDREY 

and  there  were  heights  and  depths  where  the  waif  and 
her  protectress  might  not  meet.  To  this  the  latter 
gave  dumb  recognition,  and  though  she  could  not  un 
derstand,  yet  loved  her  protegee.  At  night,  in  the  play 
house,  this  love  was  heightened  into  exultant  worship. 
At  all  times  there  was  delight  in  the  girl's  beauty, 
pride  in  the  comment  and  wonder  of  the  town,  self- 
congratulation  and  the  pleasing  knowledge  that  wis 
dom  is  vindicated  of  its  children.  Was  not  all  this 
of  her  bringing  about  ?  Did  it  not  first  occur  to  her 
that  the  child  might  take  Jane  I*ay's  place?  Even 
Charles,  who  strutted  and  plumed  himself  and  offered 
his  snuffbox  to  every  passer-by,  must  acknowledge 
that !  Mistress  Stagg  stopped  her  sewing  to  laugh 
triumphantly,  then  fell  to  work  more  diligently  than 
ever ;  for  it  was  her  pleasure  to  dress  Darden's  Au 
drey  richly,  in  soft  colors,  heavy  silken  stuffs  upon 
which  was  lavished  a  wealth  of  delicate  needlework. 
It  was  chiefly  while  she  sat  and  sewed  upon  these 
pretty  things,  with  Audrey,  book  on  knee,  close  beside 
her,  that  her  own  child  seemed  to  breathe  again. 

Audrey  thanked  her  and  kissed  her,  and  wore  what 
she  was  given  to  wear,  nor  thought  how  her  beauty 
was  enhanced.  If  others  saw  it,  if  the  wonder  grew 
by  what  it  fed  on,  if  she  was  talked  of,  written  of, 
pledged,  and  lauded  by  a  frank  and  susceptible  people, 
she  knew  of  all  this  little  enough,  and  for  what  she 
knew  cared  not  at  all.  Her  days  went  dreamily  by, 
nor  very  sad  nor  happy  ;  full  of  work,  yet  vague  and 
unmarked  as  desert  sands.  What  was  real  was  a  past 
that  was  not  hers,  and  those  dead  women  to  whom 
night  by  night  she  gave  life  and  splendor. 

There  were  visitors  to  whom  she  was  not  denied. 
Darden  came  at  times,  sat  in  Mistress  Stagg's  sunny 


THE  PLAYER  383 

parlor,  and  talked  to  his  sometime  ward  much  as  he 
had  talked  in  the  glebe-house  living  room,  —  discur 
sively,  of  men  and  parochial  affairs  and  his  own  un 
merited  woes.  Audrey  sat  and  heard  him,  with  her 
eyes  upon  the  garden  without  the  window.  When  he 
lifted  from  the  chair  his  great  shambling  figure,  and 
took  his  stained  old  hat  and  heavy  cane,  Audrey  rose 
also,  curtsied,  and  sent  her  duty  to  Mistress  Deborah, 
but  she  asked  no  questions  as  to  that  past  home  of 
hers.  Ifc  seemed  not  to  interest  her  that  the  creek 
was  frozen  so  hard  that  one  could  walk  upon  it  to 
Fair  View,  or  that  the  minister  had  bought  a  field 
from  his  wealthy  neighbor,  and  meant  to  plant  it  with 
Oronoko.  Only  when  he  told  her  that  the  little  wood 
—  the  wood  that  she  had  called  her  own  —  was  being 
cleared,  and  that  all  day  could  be  heard  the  falling  of 
the  trees,  did  she  lift  startled  eyes  and  draw  a  breath 
like  a  moan.  The  minister  looked  at  her  from  under 
shaggy  brows,  shook  his  head,  and  went  his  way  to 
his  favorite  ordinary,  rum.  and  a  hand  at  cards. 

Mistress  Deborah  she  beheld  no  more  ;  but  once 
the  Widow  Constance  brought  Barbara  to  town,  and 
the  two,  being  very  simple  women,  went  to  the  play 
to  see  the  old  Audrey,  and  saw  instead  a  queen,  tin 
seled,  mock-jeweled,  clad  in  silk,  who  loved  and  tri 
umphed,  despaired  and  died.  The  rude  theatre  shook 
to  the  applause.  When  it  was  all  over,  the  widow 
and  Barbara  went  dazed  to  their  lodging,  and  lay 
awake  through  the  night  talking  of  these  marvels. 
In  the  morning  they  found  the  small  white  house,  and 
Audrey  came  to  them  in  the  garden.  When  she  had 
kissed  them,  the  three  sat  down  in  the  arbor ;  for  it 
was  a  fine,  sunny  morning,  and  not  cold.  But  the 
talk  was  not  easy ;  Barbara's  eyes  were  so  round,  and 


384  AUDRE1 

the  widow  kept  mincing  her  words.  Only  when  they 
were  joined  by  Mistress  Stagg,  to  whom  the  widow 
became  voluble,  the  two  girls  spoke  aside. 

"  I  have  a  guinea,  Barbara,"  said  Audrey.  "  Mr. 
Stagg  gave  it  to  me,  and  I  need  it  not,  —  I  need 
naught  in  the  world.  Barbara,  here !  —  't  is  for  a 
warm  dress  and  a  Sunday  hood." 

"  Oh,  Audrey,"  breathed  Barbara,  "  they  say  you 
might  live  at  Fair  View,  —  that  you  might  marry  Mr. 
Haward  and  be  a  fine  lady  "  — 

Audrey  laid  her  hand  upon  the  other's  lips. 
"  Hush !  See,  Barbara,  you  must  have  the  dress 
made  thus,  like  mine." 

"  But  if  't  is  so,  Audrey  !  "  persisted  poor  Barbara. 
"  Mother  and  I  talked  of  it  last  night.  She  said  you 
would  want  a  waiting-woman,  and  I  thought  —  Oh, 
Audrey!" 

Audrey  bit  her  quivering  lip  and  dashed  away  the 
tears.  "  I  '11  want  no  waiting-woman,  Barbara.  I  'm 
naught  but  Audrey  that  you  used  to  be  kind  to* 
Let  's  talk  of  other  things.  Have  you  missed  me 
from  the  woods  all  these  days  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  long  since  you  were  there,"  said  Bar 
bara  dully.  "  Now  I  go  with  Joan  at  times,  though 
mother  frowns  and  says  she  is  not  fit.  Eh,  Audrey, 
if  I  could  have  a  dress  of  red  silk,  with  gold  and  bright 
stones,  like  you  wore  last  night!  Old  days  I  had 
more  than  you,  but  all 's  changed  now.  Joan  says  "  — 

The  Widow  Constance  rising  to  take  leave,  it  did 
not  appear  what  Joan  had  said.  The  visitors  from 
the  country  went  away,  nor  came  again  while  Audrey 
dwelt  in  Williamsburgh.  The  schoolmaster  came, 
and  while  he  waited  for  his  sometime  pupil  to  slowly 
descend  the  stairs  talked  learnedly  to  Mr.  Stagg  of 


THE  PLAYER  385 

native  genius,  of  the  mind  drawn  steadily  through  all 
accidents  and  adversities  to  the  end  of  its  own  dis 
covery,  and  of  how  time  and  tide  and  all  the  winds  of 
heaven  conspire  to  bring  the  fate  assigned,  to  make 
the  puppet  move  in  the  stated  measure.  Mr.  Stagg 
nodded,  took  out  his  snuffbox,  and  asked  what  now 
was  the  schoolmaster's  opinion  of  the  girl's  Monimia 
last  night, — the  last  act,  for  instance.  Good  Lord, 
how  still  the  house  was  !  —  and  then  one  long  sigh  ! 

The  schoolmaster  fingered  the  scars  in  his  hands,  as 
was  his  manner  at  times,  but  kept  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground.  When  he  spoke,  there  was  in  his  voice  un 
wonted  life.  "  Why,  sir,  I  could  have  said  with  Lear, 
4  Hysterica  passio  !  down,  tJwu  climbing  sorroiv  ! ' 
—  and  I  am  not  a  man,  sir,  that 's  easily  moved.  The 
girl  is  greatly  gifted.  I  knew  that  before  either  you 
or  the  town,  sir.  Audrey,  good-morrow  !  " 

Such  as  these  from  out  her  old  life  Darden's 
Audrey  saw  and  talked  with.  Others  sought  her, 
watched  for  her,  laid  traps  that  might  achieve  at  least 
her  presence,  but  largely  in  vain.  She  kept  within 
the  house  ;  when  the  knocker  sounded  she  went  to  her 
own  room.  No  flowery  message,  compliment,  or  ap 
peal,  not  even  Mary  Stagg's  kindly  importunity,  could 
bring  her  from  that  coign  of  vantage.  There  were 
times  when  Mistress  Stagg's  showroom  was  crowded 
with  customers ;  on  sunny  days  young  men  left  the 
bowling  green  to  stroll  in  the  shell-bordered  garden 
paths ;  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  quality  passing  up 
and  down  Palace  Street  walked  more  slowly  when 
they  came  to  the  small  white  house,  and  looked  to 
see  if  the  face  of  Darden's  Audrey  showed  at  any 
window. 

Thus  the  winter  wore  away.     The  springtime  was 


386  AUDREY 

at  hand,  when  one  day  the  Governor,  wrought  upon 
by  Mistress  Evelyn  Byrd,  sent  to  Mr.  Stagg,  bidding 
him  with  his  wife  and  the  new  player  to  the  Palace. 
The  three,  dressed  in  their  best,  were  ushered  into  the 
drawing-room,  where  they  found  his  Excellency  at 
chess  with  the  Attorney-General ;  a  third  gentleman, 
seated  somewhat  in  the  shadow,  watching  the  game. 
A  servant  placed  chairs  for  the  people  from  the  thea 
tre.  His  Excellency  checkmated  his  antagonist,  and, 
leaning  back  in  his  great  chair,  looked  at  Darden's 
Audrey,  but  addressed  his  conversation  to  Mr.  Charles 
Stagg.  The  great  man  was  condescendingly  affable, 
the  lesser  one  obsequious ;  while  they  talked  the  gen 
tleman  in  the  shadow  arose  and  drew  his  chair  to  Au 
drey's  side.  'T  was  Colonel  Byrd,  and  he  spoke  to 
the  girl  kindly  and  courteously  ;  asking  after  her  wel 
fare,  giving  her  her  meed  of  praise,  dwelling  half 
humorously  upon  the  astonishment  and  delight  into 
which  she  had  surprised  the  play-loving  town.  Au 
drey  listened  with  downcast  eyes  to  the  suave  tones, 
the  well-turned  compliments,  but  when  she  must  speak 
spoke  quietly  and  well. 

At  last  the  Governor  turned  toward  her,  and  began 
to  ask  well-meant  questions  and  to  give  pompous  en 
couragement  to  the  new  player.  No  reference  was 
made  to  that  other  time  when  she  had  visited  the 
Palace.  A  servant  poured  for  each  of  the  three  a 
glass  of  wine.  His  Excellency  graciously  desired  that 
they  shortly  give  '  Tamerlane '  again,  that  being  a  play 
whichs  as  a  true  Whig  and  a  hater  of  all  tyrants,  he 
much  delighted  in,  and  as  graciously  announced  his 
intention  of  bestowing  upon  the  company  two  slightly 
tarnished  birthday  suits.  The  great  man  then  arose, 
and  the  audience  was  over. 


THE  PLAYER  387 

Outside  the  house,  in  the  sunny  walk  leading  to  the 
gates,  the  three  from  the  theatre  met,  full  face,  a  lady 
and  two  gentlemen  who  had  been  sauntering  up  and 
down  in  the  pleasant  weather.  The  lady  was  Evelyn 
Byrd  ;  the  gentlemen  were  Mr.  Lee  and  Mr.  Grymes. 

Audrey,  moving  slightly  in  advance  of  her  compan 
ions,  halted  at  the  sight  of  Evelyn,  and  the  rich  color 
surged  to  her  face ;  but  the  other,  pale  and  lovely, 
kept  her  composure,  and,  with  a  smile  and  a  few 
graceful  words  of  greeting,  curtsied  deeply  to  the 
player.  Audrey,  with  a  little  catch  of  her  breath,  re 
turned  the  curtsy.  Both  women  were  richly  dressed, 
both  were  beautiful ;  it  seemed  a  ceremonious  meeting 
of  two  ladies  of  quality.  The  gentlemen  also  bowed 
profoundly,  pressing  their  hats  against  their  hearts. 
Mistress  Stagg,  to  whom  her  protegee's  aversion  to 
company  was  no  light  cross,  twitched  her  Mirabel!  by 
the  sleeve  and,  hanging  upon  his  arm,  prevented  his 
further  advance.  The  action  said  :  ^  Let  the  child 
alone ;  maybe  when  the  ice  is  once  broken  she  'II  see 
people,  and  not  be  so  shy  and  strange  ! " 

"  Mr.  Lee,"  said  Evelyn  sweetly,  "  I  have  dropped 
my  glove,  —  perhaps  in  the  summer-house  on  the  ter 
race.  If  you  will  be  so  good  ?  Mr.  Grymes,  will 
you  desire  Mr.  Stagg  yonder  to  shortly  visit  me  at  my 
lodging  ?  I  wish  to  bespeak  a  play,  and  would  confer 
with  him  on  the  matter." 

The  gentlemen  bowed  and  hasted  upon  their  several 
errands,  leaving  Audrey  and  Evelyn  standing  face  to 
face  in  the  sunny  path.  "  You  are  well,  I  hope,"  said 
the  latter,  in  her  low,  clear  voice,  "  and  happy  ?  " 

"  I  am  well,  Mistress  Evelyn,"  answered  Audrey. 
"  I  think  that  I  am  not  unhappy." 

The  other  gazed  at  her  in  silence ;  then,  "  We  have 


388  AUDREY 

all  been  blind,"  she  said.  "  'T  is  not  a  year  since  May 
Day  and  the  Jaquelins'  merrymaking.  It  seems  much 
longer.  You  won  the  race,  —  do  you  remember  ?  — 
and  took  the  prize  from  my  hand.  And  neither  of  us 
thought  of  all  that  should  follow  —  did  we?  —  or 
guessed  at  other  days.  I  saw  you  last  night  at  the 
theatre,  and  you  made  my  heart  like  to  burst  for  pity 
and  sorrow.  You  were  only  playing  at  woe?  You 
are  not  unhappy,  not  like  that  ?  " 

Audrey  shook  her  head,     "  No,  not  like  that." 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  by  Evelyn.  "  Mr.  Haward 
is  in  town,"  she  said,  in  a  low  but  unfaltering  voice, 
"  He  was  at  the  playhouse  last  night.  I  watched  him 
sitting  in  a  box,  in  the  shadow.  .  .  .  You  also  saw 
him?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Audrey.  "  He  had  not  been  there  for 
a  long,  long  time.  At  first  he  came  night  after  night. 
...  I  wrote  to  him  at  last  and  told  him  how  he 
troubled  me,  —  made  me  forget  my  lines,  —  and  then 
he  came  no  more." 

There  was  in  her  tone  a  strange  wistfulness.  Eve 
lyn  drew  her  breath  sharply,  glanced  swiftly  at  the 
dark  face  and  liquid  eyes.  Mr.  Grymes  yet  held  the 
manager  and  his  wife  in  conversation,  but  Mr.  Lee,  a 
small  jessamine-scented  glove  in  hand,  was  hurrying 
toward  them  from  the  summer-house. 

"  You  think  that  you  do  not  love  Mr.  Haward  ?  " 
said  Evelyn,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  loved  one  that  never  lived,"  said  Audrey  simply. 
"  It  was  all  in  a  dream  from  which  I  have  waked.  I 
told  him  that  at  Westover,  and  afterwards  here  in 
Williamsburgh.  I  grew  so  tired  at  last  —  it  hurt  me 
so  to  tell  him  ...  and  then  I  wrote  the  letter.  He 
has  been  at  Fair  View  this  long  time,  has  he  not  ?  " 


THE  PLAYER  389 

"  Yes,"  said  Evelyn  quietly.  "  He  has  been  alone 
at  Fair  View."  The  rose  in  her  cheeks  had  faded ; 
she  put  her  lace  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  and  shut  her 
hand  so  closely  that  the  nails  bit  into  the  palm.  In  a 
moment,  however,  she  was  smiling,  a  faint,  inscruta 
ble  smile,  and  presently  she  came  a  little  nearer  and 
took  Audrey's  hand  in  her  own. 

The  soft,  hot,  lingering  touch  thrilled  the  girl.  She 
began  to  speak  hurriedly,  not  knowing  why  she  spoke 
nor  what  she  wished  to  say :  "  Mistress  Evelyn  "  — 

"  Yes,  Audrey,"  said  Evelyn,  and  laid  a  fluttering 
touch  upon  the  other's  lips,  then  in  a  moment  spoke 
herself :  "  You  are  to  remember  always,  though  you 
love  him  not,  Audrey,  that  he  never  was  true  lover  of 
mine ;  that  now  and  forever,  and  though  you  died  to 
night,  he  is  to  me  but  an  old  acquaintance,  —  Mr. 
Marmaduke  Haward  of  Fair  View.  Remember  also 
that  it  was  not  your  fault,  nor  his  perhaps,  nor  mine, 
and  that  with  all  my  heart  I  wish  his  happiness.  .  .  . 
Ah,  Mr.  Lee,  you  found  it?  My  thanks,  sir." 

Mr.  Lee,  having  restored  the  glove  with  all  the 
pretty  froth  of  words  which  the  occasion  merited,  and 
seen  Mistress  Evelyn  turn  aside  to  speak  with  Mr. 
Stagg,  found  himself  mightily  inclined  to  improve  the 
golden  opportunity  and  at  once  lay  siege  to  this  para 
gon  from  the  playhouse.  Two  low  bows,  a  three-piled, 
gold-embroidered  compliment,  a  quotation  from  his 
"  To  Sylvia  upon  her  Leaving  the  Theatre,"  and  the 
young  gentleman  thought  his  lines  well  laid.  But 
Sylvia  grew  restless,  dealt  in  monosylkbles,  and 
finally  retreated  to  Mistress  Stagg's  side.  "  Shall  we 
not  go  home  ? "  she  whispered.  "I  —  I  am  tired,  and 
I  have  my  part  to  study,  the  long  speech  at  the  end 
that  I  stumbled  in  last  night.  Ah,  let  us  go !  " 


390  AUDREY 

Mistress  Stagg  sighed  over  the  girl's  contumacy. 
It  was  not  thus  in  Bath  when  she  was  young,  and  men 
of  fashion  flocked  to  compliment  a  handsome  player. 
Now  there  was  naught  to  do  but  to  let  the  child  have 
her  way.  She  and  Audrey  made  their  curtsies,  and 
Mr.  Charles  Stagg  his  bow,  which  was  modeled  after 
that  of  Beau  Nash.  Then  the  three  went  down  the 
sunny  path  to  the  Palace  gates,  and  Evelyn  with  the 
two  gentlemen  moved  toward  the  house  and  the  com 
pany  within. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AMOR   VINCIT 

BY  now  it  was  early  spring  in  Virginia,  and  a  time 
of  balm  and  pleasantness.  The  season  had  not  entered 
into  its  complete  heritage  of  gay  hues,  sweet  odors, 
song,  and  wealth  of  bliss.  Its  birthday  robe  was  yet 
a-weaving,  its  coronal  of  blossoms  yet  folded  buds,  its 
choristers  not  ready  with  their  fullest  paeans.  But 
everywhere  was  earnest  of  future  riches.  In  the  forest 
the  bloodroot  was  in  flower,  and  the  bluebird  and  the 
redbird  flashed  from  the  maple  that  was  touched  with 
fire  to  the  beech  just  lifted  from  a  pale  green  fountain. 
In  Mistress  Stagg's  garden  daffodils  bloomed,  and  dim 
blue  hyacinths  made  sweet  places  in  the  grass.  The 
sun  lay  warm  upon  upturned  earth,  blackbirds  rose  in 
squadrons  and  darkened  the  yet  leafless  trees,  and 
every  wind  brought  rumors  of  the  heyday  toward 
which  the  earth  was  spinning.  The  days  were  long 
and  sweet ;  at  night  a  moon  carne  up,  and  between  it 
and  the  earth  played  soft  and  vernal  airs.  Then  a 
pale  light  flooded  the  garden,  the  shells  bordering  its 
paths  gleamed  like  threaded  pearls,  and  the  house 
showed  whiter  than  a  marble  sepulchre.  Mild  in 
cense,  cool  winds,  were  there,  but  quiet  came  fitfully 
between  the  bursts  of  noise  from  the  lit  theatre. 

On  such  a  night  as  this  Audrey,  clothed  in  red  silk, 
with  a  band  of  false  jewels  about  her  shadowy  hair, 
slipped  through  the  stage  door  into  the  garden,  and 


392  AUDREY 

moved  across  it  to  the  small  white  house  and  rest. 
Her  part  in  the  play  was  done ;  for  all  their  storming 
she  would  not  stay.  Silence  and  herself  alone,  and 
the  mirror  in  her  room ;  then,  sitting  before  the  glass, 
to  see  in  it  darkly  the  woman  whom  she  had  left  dead 
upon  the  boards  yonder,  —  no,  not  yonder,  but  in  a  far 
country,  and  a  fair  and  great  city.  Love  !  love !  and 
death  for  love  !  and  her  own  face  in  the  mirror  gazing 
at  her  with  eyes  of  that  long-dead  Greek.  It  was  the 
exaltation  and  the  dream,  mournful,  yet  not  without 
its  luxury,  that  ended  her  every  day.  When  the  can 
dle  burned  low,  when  the  face  looked  but  dimly  from 
the  glass,  then  would  she  rise  and  quench  the  flame, 
and  lay  herself  down  to  sleep,  with  the  moonlight  upon 
her  crossed  hands  and  quiet  brow. 

She  passed  through  the  grape  arbor,  and  opened  the 
door  at  which  Haward  had  knocked  that  September 
night  of  the  Governor's  ball.  She  was  in  Mistress 
Stagg's  long  room ;  at  that  hour  it  should  have  been 
lit  only  by  a  dying  fire  and  a  solitary  candle.  Now 
the  fire  was  low  enough,  but  the  room  seemed  aflare 
with  myrtle  tapers.  Audrey,  coming  from  the  dimness 
without,  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand.  The  heavy 
door  shut  to  behind  her ;  unseeing  still  she  moved  to 
ward  the  fire,  but  in  a  moment  let  fall  her  hand  and 
began  to  wonder  at  the  unwonted  lights.  Mistress 
Stagg  was  yet  in  the  playhouse ;  who  then  had  lit 
these  candles  ?  She  turned,  and  saw  Haward  stand 
ing  with  folded  arms  between  her  and  the  door. 

The  silence  was  long.  He  was  Marmaduke  Haward 
with  all  his  powers  gathered,  calm,  determined,  so 
desperate  to  have  done  with  this  thing,  to  at  once  and 
forever  gain  his  own  and  master  fate,  that  his  stillness 


AMOR  VINCIT  393 

was  that  of  deepest  waters,  his  cool  equanimity  that  of 
the  gamester  who  knows  how  will  fall  the  loaded  dice. 
Dressed  with  his  accustomed  care,  very  pale,  composed 
and  quiet,  he  faced  her  whose  spirit  yet  lingered  in  a 
far  city,  who  in  the  dreamy  exaltation  of  this  midnight 
hour  was  ever  half  Audrey  of  the  garden,  half  that 
other  woman  in  a  dress  of  red  silk,  with  jewels  in  her 
hair,  who,  love's  martyr,  had  exulted,  given  all,  and 
died. 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ?  "  she  breathed  at  last. 
"  You  said  that  you  would  come  never  again." 

"  After  to-night,  never  again,"  he  answered.  "  But 
now,  Audrey,  this  once  again,  this  once  again !  " 

Gazing  past  him  she  made  a  movement  toward  the 
door.  Pie  shook  his  head.  "  This  is  my  hour,  Au 
drey.  You  may  not  leave  the  room,  nor  will  Mistress 
Stagg  enter  it.  I  will  not  touch  you,  I  will  come  no 
nearer  to  you.  Stand  there  in  silence,  if  you  choose, 
or  cover  the  sight  of  me  from  your  eyes,  while  for  my 
own  ease,  my  own  unhappiness,  I  say  farewell." 

"  Farewell !  "  she  echoed.  "  Long  ago,  at  Westover, 
that  was  said  between  you  and  me.  .  .  .  Why  do  you 
come  like  a  ghost  to  keep  me  and  peace  apart  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  locked  her  hands  across 
her  brow  that  burned  beneath  the  heavy  circlet  of 
mock  gems.  "  Is  it  kind  ?  "  she  demanded,  with  a  sob 
in  her  voice,  "  Is  it  kind  to  trouble  me  so,  to  keep 
me  here  "  — 

"  Was  I  ever  kind  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Since  the  night 
when  I  followed  you,  a  child,  and  caught  you  from  the 
ground  when  you  fell  between  the  corn  rows,  what 
kindness,  Audrey  ?  " 

"  None ! "  she  answered,  with  sudden  passion. 
"  Nor  kindness  then !  Why  went  you  not  some  other 
way?" 


394  AUDREY 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  was  there  that  night,  — 
why  I  left  my  companions  and  came  riding  back  to 
the  cabin  in  the  valley  ?  " 

She  uncovered  her  eyes.  "  I  thought  —  I  thought 
then  —  that  you  were  sent  "  — 

He  looked  at  her  with  strange  compassion.  "  My 
own  will  sent  me.  .  «,  *  When,  that  sunny  afternoon, 
we  spurred  from  the  valley  toward  the  higher  moun 
tains,  we  left  behind  us  a  forest  flower,  a  young  girl 
of  simple  sweetness,  with  long  dark  hair,  —  like  yours, 
Audrey.  ...  It  was  to  pluck  that  flower  that  I  de 
serted  the  expedition,  that  I  went  back  to  the  valley 
between  the  hills." 

Her  eyes  dilated,  and  her  hands  very  slowly  rose  to 
press  her  temples,  to  make  a  shadow  from  which  she 
might  face  the  cup  of  trembling  he  was  pouring  for 
her. 

"Molly  !  "  she  said,  beneath  her  breath. 

He  nodded.  "  Well,  Death  had  gathered  the  flower. 
.  .  .  Accident  threw  across  my  path  a  tinier  blossom, 
a  helpless  child.  Save  you  then,  care  for  you  then, 
I  must,  or  I  had  been  not  man,  but  monster.  Did  I 
care  for  you  tenderly,  Audrey  ?  Did  I  make  you  love 
me  with  all  your  childish  heart  ?  Did  I  become  to 
you  father  and  mother  and  sister  and  fairy  prince  ? 
Then  what  were  you  to  me  in  those  old  days  ?  A 
child  fanciful  and  charming,  too  fine  in  all  her  moods 
not  to  breed  wonder,  to  give  the  feeling  that  Nature 
had  placed  in  that  mountain  cabin  a  changeling  of  her 
own.  A  child  that  one  must  regard  with  fondness 
and  some  pity,  —  what  is  called  a  dear  child.  More 
over,  a  child  whose  life  I  had  saved,  and  to  whom  it 
pleased  me  to  play  Providence.  I  was  young,  not 
hard  of  heart,  sedulous  to  fold  back  to  the  uttermost 


AMOR  VINCIT  395 

the  roseleaves  of  every  delicate  and  poetic  emotion, 
magnificently  generous  also,  and  set  to  play  my  life 
au  grand  seigneur.  To  myself  assume  a  responsibil 
ity  which  with  all  ease  might  have  been  transferred 
to  an  Orphan  Court,  to  put  my  stamp  upon  your 
life  to  come,  to  watch  you  kneel  and  drink  of  my 
fountain  of  generosity,  to  open  my  hand  and  with 
an  indulgent  smile  shower  down  upon  you  the  coin  of 
pleasure  and  advantage,  —  why,  what  a  tribute  was 
this  to  my  own  sovereignty,  what  subtle  flattery  of 
self-love,  what  delicate  taste  of  power  !  Well,  I  kissed 
you  good-by,  and  unclasped  your  hands  from  my  neck, 
eluded  you,  laughed  at  you,  fondled  you,  promised  all 
manner  of  pretty  things  and  engaged  you  never  to 
forget  me  —  and  sailed  away  upon  the  Golden  Rose 
to  meet  my  crowded  years  with  their  wine  and  roses, 
upas  shadows  and  apples  of  Sodom.  How  long  be 
fore  I  forgot  you,  Audrey  ?  A  year  and  a  day,  per 
haps.  I  protest  that  I  cannot  remember  exactly." 

He  slightly  changed  his  position,  but  came  no  nearer 
to  her.  It  was  growing  quiet  in  the  street  beyond  the 
curtained  windows.  One  window  was  bare,  but  it 
gave  only  upon  an  unused  nook  of  the  garden  where 
were  merely  the  moonlight  and  some  tall  leafless 
bushes. 

"  I  came  back  to  Virginia,"  he  said,  "  and  I  looked 
for  and  found  you  in  the  heart  of  a  flowering  wood. 
.  .  .  All  that  you  imagined  me  to  be,  Audrey,  that 
was  I  not.  Knight-errant,  paladin,  king  among  men, 
—  what  irony,  child,  in  that  strange  dream  and  in 
fatuation  of  thine  !  I  was  —  I  am  —  of  my  time  and 
of  myself,  and  he  whom  that  day  you  thought  me  had 
not  then  nor  afterwards  form  or  being.  I  wish  you 
to  be  perfect  in  this  lesson,  Audrey.  Are  you  so  ?  " 


398  AUDREY 

"  The  Golden  Kose !  "  she  answered.  "  The  sea. 
.  .  .  Alas  I  " 

Her  voice  had  risen  into  a  cry.  The  walls  of  the 
room  were  gone,  the  air  pressed  upon  her  heavily,  the 
lights  wavered,  the  waters  were  passing  over  her  as 
they  had  passed  that  night  of  the  witch's  hut.  How 
far  away  the  bank  upon  which  he  stood !  He  spoke 
to  her,  and  his  voice  came  faintly  as  from  that  distant 
shore  or  from  the  deck  of  a  swiftly  passing  ship. 
"  And  so  it  is  good-by,  sweetheart ;  for  why  should 
I  stay  in  Virginia  ?  Ah,  if  you  loved  me,  Audrey ! 
But  since  it  is  not  so  —  Good-by,  good-by.  This 
time  I  '11  not  forget  you,  but  I  will  not  come  again. 
Good-by  ! " 

Her  lips  moved,  but  there  came  no  words.  A  light 
had  dawned  upon  her  face,  her  hand  was  lifted  as 
though  to  stay  a  sound  of  music.  Suddenly  she 
turned  toward  him,  swayed,  and  would  have  fallen  but 
that  his  arm  caught  and  upheld  her.  Her  head  was 
thrown  back ;  the  soft  masses  of  her  wonderful  hair 
brushed  his  cheek  and  shoulder  ;  her  eyes  looked  past 
him,  and  a  smile,  pure  and  exquisite  past  expression, 
just  redeemed  her  face  from  sadness.  "  Good-morrow, 
Love  !  "  she  said  clearly  and  sweetly. 

At  the  sound  of  her  own  words  came  to  her  the  full 
realization  and  understanding  of  herself.  With  a  cry 
she  freed  herself  from  his  supporting  arm,  stepped 
backward  and  looked  at  him.  The  color  surged  over 
her  face  and  throat,  her  eyelids  drooped ;  while  her 
name  was  yet  upon  his  lips  she  answered  with  a 
broken  cry  of  ecstasy  and  abandonment.  A  moment 
and  she  was  in  his  arms  and  their  lips  had  met. 

How  quiet  it  was  in  the  long  room,  where  the  myr 
tle  candles  gave  out  their  faint  perfume  and  the  low 


AMOR  VINCIT  399 

fire  leaped  upon  the  hearth  !  Thus  for  a  time  ;  then, 
growing  faint  with  her  happiness,  she  put  up  protest 
ing  hands.  He  made  her  sit  in  the  great  chair,  and 
knelt  before  her,  all  youth  and  fire,  handsome,  ardent, 
transfigured  by  his  passion  into  such  a  lover  as  a 
queen  might  desire. 

"  Hail,  Sultana !  "  he  said,  smiling,  his  eyes  upon 
her  diadem.  "  Now  you  are  Arpasia  again,  and  I  am 
Moneses,  and  ready,  ah,  most  ready,  to  die  for  you." 

She  also  smiled.  "  Remember  that  I  am  to  quickly 
follow  you." 

"  When  shall  we  marry  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  The 
garden  cries  out  for  you,  my  love,  and  I  wish  to  hear 
your  footstep  in  my  house.  It  hath  been  a  dreary 
house,  filled  with  shadows,  haunted  by  keen  longings 
and  vain  regrets.  Now  the  windows  shall  be  flung 
wide  and  the  sunshine  shall  pour  in.  Oh,  your  voice 
singing  through  the  rooms,  your  foot  upon  the  stairs !  " 
He  took  her  hands  and  put  them  to  his  lips.  "  I  love 
as  men  loved  of  old,"  he  said.  "I  am  far  from 
myself  and  my  times.  When  will  you  become  my 
wife  ?  " 

She  answered  him  simply,  like  the  child  that  at 
times  she  seemed  :  "  When  you  will.  But  I  must  be 
Arpasia  again  to-morrow  night.  The  Governor  hath 
ordered  the  play  repeated,  and  Margery  Linn  could 
not  learn  my  part  in  time." 

He  laughed,  fingering  the  red  silk  of  her  hanging 
sleeve,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  her  dark  beauty,  so 
heightened  and  deepened  in  the  year  that  had  passed. 
"  Then  play  to  them  —  and  to  me  who  shall  watch  you 
well  —  to-morrow  night.  But  after  that  to  them  never 
again  !  only  to  me,  Audrey,  to  me  when  we  walk  in 
the  garden  at  home,  when  we  sit  in  the  book-room  and 


400  AUDREY 

the  candles  are  lighted.  That  day  in  May  when  first 
you  came  into  my  garden,  when  first  I  showed  you  my 
house,  when  first  I  rowed  you  home  with  the  sunshine 
on  the  water  and  the  roses  in  your  hair !  Love,  love  I 
do  you  remember  ?  '•' 

"Remember?"  she  answered,  in  a  thrilling  voice. 
"  When  I  am  dead  I  shall  yet  remember !  And  I 
will  come  when  you  want  me.  After  to-morrow  night 
I  will  come.  .  .  .  Oh,  cannot  you  hear  the  river? 
And  the  walls  of  the  box  will  be  freshly  green,  and 
the  fruit-trees  all  in  bloom !  The  white  leaves  drift 
down  upon  the  bench  beneath  the  cherry-tree.  .  .  . 
I  will  sit  in  the  grass  at  your  feet.  Oh,  I  love  you, 
have  loved  you  long  !  " 

They  had  risen  and  now  with  her  head  upon  his 
breast  and  his  arm  about  her,  they  stood  in  the  heart 
of  the  soft  radiance  of  many  candles.  His  face  was 
bowed  upon  the  dark  wonder  of  her  hair ;  when  at 
last  he  lifted  his  eyes,  they  chanced  to  fall  upon  the 
one  uncurtained  window.  Audrey,  feeling  his  slight, 
quickly  controlled  start,  turned  within  his  arm  and 
also  saw  the  face  of  Jean  Hugon,  pressed  against  the 
glass,  staring  in  upon  them. 

Before  Haward  could  reach  the  window  the  face  was 
gone.  A  strip  of  moonlight,  some  leafless  bushes,  be 
yond,  the  blank  wall  of  the  theatre,  —  that  was  all. 
Raising  the  sash,  Haward  leaned  forth  until  he  could 
see  the  garden  at  large.  Moonlight  still  and  cold, 
winding  paths,  and  shadows  of  tree  and  shrub  and 
vine,  but  no  sign  of  living  creature.  He  closed  the 
window  and  drew  the  curtain  across,  then  turned  again 
to  Audrey.  "  A  phantom  of  the  night,"  he  said,  and 
laughed. 

She  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with 


AMOR  VINCIT  401 

her  red  dress  gleaming  in  the  candlelight.  Her  brow 
beneath  its  mock  crown  had  no  lines  of  care,  and  her 
wonderful  eyes  smiled  upon  him.  "  I  have  no  fear  of 
it,"  she  answered.  "  That  is  strange,  is  it  not,  when 
I  have  feared  it  for  so  long  ?  I  have  no  other  fear  to 
night  than  that  I  shall  outlive  your  love  for  me." 

"  I  will  love  you  until  the  stars  fall,"  he  said. 

"  They  are  falling  to-night.  When  you  are  without 
the  door  look  up,  and  you  may  see  one  pass  swiftly 
down  the  sky.  Once  I  watched  them  from  the  dark 
river  "  — 

"  I  will  love  you  until  the  sun  grows  old,"  he  said. 
"  Through  life  and  death,  through  heaven  or  hell,  past 
the  beating  of  my  heart,  while  lasts  my  soul !  .  .  . 
Audrey,  Audrey !  " 

"  If  it  is  so,"  she  answered,  "  then  all  is  well.  Now 
kiss  me  good-night,  for  I  hear  Mistress  Stagg's  voice. 
You  will  come  again  to-morrow?  And  to-morrow 
night,  —  oh,  to-morrow  night  I  shall  see  only  you, 
think  of  only  you  while  I  play !  Good-night,  good 
night." 

They  kissed  and  parted,  and  Haward,  a  happy  man, 
went  with  raised  face  through  the  stillness  and  the 
moonlight  to  his  lodging  at  Marot's  ordinary.  No 
phantoms  of  the  night  disturbed  him.  He  had  found 
the  philosopher's  stone,  had  drunk  of  the  divine  elixir. 
Life  was  at  last  a  thing  much  to  be  desired,  and  the 
Giver  of  life  was  good,  and  the  summum  bonum  was 
deathless  love. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   LAST   ACT 

BEFORE  eight  of  the  clock,  Mr.  Stagg,  peering  from 
behind  the  curtain,  noted  with  satisfaction  that  the 
house  was  filling  rapidly  ;  upon  the  stroke  of  the  hour 
it  was  crowded  to  the  door,  without  which  might  be 
heard  angry  voices  contending  that  there  must  be  yet 
places  for  the  buying.  The  musicians  began  to  play 
and  more  candles  were  lighted.  There  were  laughter, 
talk,  greetings  from  one  part  of  the  house  to  another, 
as  much  movement  to  and  fro  as  could  be  accomplished 
in  so  crowded  a  space.  The  manners  of  the  London 
playhouses  were  aped  not  unsuccessfully.  To  com 
pare  small  things  with  great,  it  might  have  been  Drury 
Lane  upon  a  gala  night.  If  the  building  was  rude, 
yet  it  had  no  rival  in  the  colonies,  and  if  the  audience 
was  not  so  gay  of  hue,  impertinent  of  tongue,  or  para 
mount  in  fashion  as  its  London  counterpart,  yet  it  was 
composed  of  the  rulers  and  makers  of  a  land  destined 
to  greatness. 

In  the  centre  box  sat  his  Excellency,  William  Gooch, 
Lieutenant-Governor  of  Virginia,  resplendent  in  velvet 
and  gold  lace,  and  beside  him  Colonel  Alexander 
Spotswood,  arrived  in  town  from  Germanna  that  day, 
with  his  heart  much  set  upon  the  passage,  by  the 
Assembly,  of  an  act  which  would  advantage  his  iron 
works.  Colonel  Byrd  of  "Westover,  Colonel  Esmond 
of  Castlewood,  Colonel  Carter,  Colonel  Page,  and 


THE  LAST  ACT  403 

Colonel  Ludwell  were  likewise  of  the  Governor's  party, 
while  seated  or  standing  in  the  pit,  or  mingling  with 
the  ladies  who  made  gay  the  boxes,  were  other  gentle 
men  of  consequence,  —  Councilors,  Burgesses,  owners 
of  vast  tracts  of  land,  of  ships  and  many  slaves.  Of 
their  number  some  were  traveled  men,  and  some  had 
fought  in  England's  wars,  and  some  had  studied  in 
her  universities.  Many  were  of  gentle  blood,  sprung 
from  worthy  and  venerable  houses  in  that  green  island 
which  with  fondness  they  still  called  home,  and  many 
had  made  for  themselves  name  and  fortune,  hewing 
their  way  to  honor  through  a  primeval  forest  of  adver 
sities.  Lesser  personages  were  not  lacking,  but  crowded 
the  gallery  and  invaded  the  pit.  Old  fighters  of  In 
dians  were  present,  and  masters  of  ships  trading  from 
the  Spanish  islands  or  from  the  ports  of  home.  Rude 
lumbermen  from  Norfolk  or  the  borders  of  the  Dismal 
Swamp  stared  about  them,  while  here  and  there  showed 
the  sad-colored  coat  of  a  minister,  or  the  broad  face  of 
some  Walloon  from  Spotswood's  settlement  on  the 
Rapidan,  or  the  keener  countenances  of  Frenchmen 
from  Monacan-Town.  The  armorer  from  the  Maga 
zine  elbowed  a  great  proprietor  from  the  Eastern 
shore,  while  a  famous  guide  and  hunter,  long  and  lean 
and  brown,  described  to  a  magnate  of  Yorktown  a 
buffalo  capture  in  the  far  west,  twenty  leagues  beyond 
the  falls.  Masters  and  scholars  from  William  and 
Mary  were  there,  with  rangers,  traders,  sailors  ashore, 
small  planters,  merchants,  loquacious  keepers  of  ordi 
naries,  and  with  men,  now  free  and  with  a  stake  in  the 
land,  who  had  come  there  as  indentured  servants,  or 
as  convicts,  runaways,  and  fugitives  from  jijfetice.  In 
the  upper  gallery,  where  no  payment  was  exacted, 
many  servants  with  a  sprinkling  of  favorite  mulatto  or 


404  AUDREY 

mustee  slaves ;  in  the  boxes  the  lustre  and  sweep  of 
damask  and  brocade,  light  laughter,  silvery  voices,  the 
flutter  of  fans ;  everywhere  the  vividness  and  anima 
tion  of  a  strangely  compounded  society,  where  the 
shadows  were  deep  and  the  lights  were  high. 

Nor  did  the  conversation  of  so  motley  an  assem 
blage  lack  a  certain  pictorial  quality,  a  somewhat 
fantastic  opulence  of  reference  and  allusion.  Of  what 
might  its  members  speak  while  they  waited  for  the 
drawing  aside  of  the  piece  of  baize  which  hung  be 
tween  them  and  an  Oriental  camp  ?  There  was  the 
staple  of  their  wealth,  a  broad-leafed  plant,  the  smoke 
of  whose  far-spread  burning  might  have  wrapped  its 
native  fields  in  a  perpetual  haze  as  of  Indian  summer ; 
and  there  was  the  warfare,  bequeathed  from  genera 
tion  to  generation,  against  the  standing  armies  of  the 
forest,  that  subtle  foe  that  slept  not,  retreated  not, 
whose  vanguard,  ever  falling,  ever  showed  unbroken 
ranks  beyond.  Trapper  and  trader  and  ranger  might 
tell  of  trails  through  the  wilderness  vast  and  hostile, 
of  canoes  upon  unknown  waters,  of  beasts  of  prey, 
creatures  screaming  in  the  night-time  through  the 
ebony  woods.  Of  Indian  villages,  also,  and  of  red 
men  who,  in  the  fastnesses  that  were  left  them,  took 
and  tortured  and  slew  after  strange  fashions.  The 
white  man,  strong  as  the  wind,  drove  the  red  man 
before  his  face  like  an  autumn  leaf,  but  he  beckoned 
to  the  black  man,  and  the  black  man  came  at  his  call. 
He  came  in  numbers  from  a  far  country,  and  the  man 
ner  of  his  coming  was  in  chains.  What  he  had  to 
sell  was  valuable,  but  the  purchase  price  came  not 
into  his  Jiands.  Of  him  also  mention  was  made  to 
night.  The  master  of  the  tall  ship  that  had  brought 
him  into  the  James  or  the  York,  the  dealer  to  whom 


THE  LAST  ACT  405 

he  was  consigned,  the  officer  of  the  Crown  who  had 
cried  him  for  sale,  the  planter  who  had  bought  him, 
the  divine  who  preached  that  he  was  of  a  race  ac 
cursed,  —  all  were  there,  and  all  had  interest  in  this 
merchandise.  Others  in  the  throng  talked  of  ships 
both  great  and  small,  and  the  quaintness  of  their 
names,  the  golden  flowers  and  golden  women,  thfc 
swift  birds  and  beasts,  the  namesakes  of  Fortune  or 
of  Providence,  came  pleasantly  upon  the  ear.  The 
still-vexed  Bermoothes,  Barbadoes,  and  all  the  Indies 
were  spoken  of ;  ports  to  the  north  and  ports  to  the 
south,  pirate  craft  and  sunken  treasure,  a  flight,  a 
fight,  a  chase  at  sea.  The  men  from  Norfolk  talked 
of  the  great  Dismal  and  its  trees  of  juniper  and  cy 
press,  the  traders  of  trading,  the  masters  from  William 
and  Mary  of  the  humanities.  The  greater  men,  au 
thoritative  and  easy,  owners  of  flesh  and  blood  and 
much  land,  holders  of  many  offices  and  leaders  of  the 
people,  paid  their  respects  to  horse-racing  and  cock- 
fighting,  cards  and  dice  ;  to  building,  planting,  the 
genteelest  mode  of  living,  and  to  public  affairs  both 
in  Virginia  and  at  home  in  England.  Old  friends, 
with  oaths  of  hearty  affection,  and  from  opposite  quar 
ters  of  the  house,  addressed  each  other  as  Tom,  or 
Ned,  or  Dick,  while  old  enemies,  finding  themselves 
side  by  side,  exchanged  extremely  civil  speeches,  and 
so  put  a  keener  edge  upon  their  mutual  disgust.  In 
the  boxes  where  glowed  the  women  there  was  comfit 
talk,  vastly  pretty  speeches,  asseverations,  denials, 
windy  sighs,  the  politest  oaths,  whispering,  talk  of  the 
play,  and,  last  but  not  least,  of  Mr.  Haward  of  Fair 
View,  and  Darden's  Audrey. 

Haward,  entering  the  pit,  made  his  way  quietly  to 
where  a  servant  was  holding  for  him  a  place.     The 


406  AUDREY 

fellow  pulled  his  forelock  in  response  to  his  master's 
nod,  then  shouldered  his  way  through  the  press  to  the 
ladder-like  stairs  that  led  to  the  upper  gallery.  Ha- 
ward,  standing  at  his  ease,  looked  about  him,  recog 
nizing  this  or  that  acquaintance  with  his  slow,  fine 
smile  and  an  inclination  of  his  head.  He  was  much 
observed,  and  presently  a  lady  leaned  from  her  box, 
smiled,  waved  her  fan,  and  slightly  beckoned  to  him. 
It  was  young  Madam  Byrd,  and  Evelyn  sat  beside 
her. 

Five  minutes  later,  as  Haward  entered  the  box  of 
the  ladies  of  Westover,  music  sounded,  the  curtain 
was  drawn  back,  and  the^)lay  began.  Upon  the  ruder 
sort  in  the  audience  silence  fell  at  once :  they  that 
followed  the  sea,  and  they  that  followed  the  woods, 
and  all  the  simple  folk  ceased  their  noise  and  gesticu 
lation,  and  gazed  spellbound  at  the  pomp  before  them 
of  rude  scenery  and  indifferent  actors.  But  the  great 
ones  of  the  earth  talked  on,  attending  to  their  own 
business  in  the  face  of  Tamerlane  and  his  victorious 
force.  It  was  the  fashion  to  do  so,  and  in  the  play 
to-night  the  first  act  counted  nothing,  for  Darden's 
Audrey  had  naught  to  do  with  it.  In  the  second  act, 
when  she  entered  as  Arpasia,  the  entire  house  would 
fall  quiet,  staring  and  holding  its  breath. 

Haward  bent  over  Madam  Byrd's  hand ;  then,  as 
that  lady  turned  from  him  to  greet  Mr.  Lee,  addressed 
himself  with  grave  courtesy  to  Evelyn,  clothed  in  pale 
blue,  and  more  lovely  even  than  her  wont.  For 
months  they  had  not  met.  She  had  written  him  one 
letter,  —  had  written  the  night  of  the  day  upon  which 
she  had  encountered  Audrey  in  the  Palace  walk, — • 
and  he  had  answered  it  with  a  broken  line  of  passion 
ate  thanks  for  unmerited  kindness.  Now  as  he  bent 


THE  LAST  ACT  407 

over  her  she  caught  his  wrist  lightly  with  her  hand,  and 
her  touch  burned  him  through  the  lace  of  his  ruffles. 
With  her  other  hand  she  spread  her  fan ;  Mr.  Lee's 
shoulder  knot  also  screened  them  while  Mr.  Grymes 
had  engaged  its  owner's  attention,  and  pretty  Madam 
Byrd  was  in  animated  conversation  with  the  occupants 
of  a  neighboring  box.  "  Is  it  well  ?  "  asked  Evelyn, 
very  low. 

Haward's  answer  was  as  low,  and  bravely  spoken 
with  his  eyes  meeting  her  clear  gaze,  and  her  touch 
upon  his  wrist.  "  For  me,  Evelyn,  it  is  very  well,"  he 
said.  "  For  her  —  may  I  live  to  make  it  well  for  her, 
forever  and  a  day  well  for  her !  She  is  to  be  my 
wife." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Evelyn,  —  "  very  glad." 

"You  are  a  noble  lady,"  he  answered.  "Once, 
long  ago,  I  styled  myself  your  friend,  your  equal. 
Now  I  know  better  my  place  and  yours,  and  as  from 
a  princess  I  take  your  alms.  For  your  letter  —  that 
letter,  Evelyn,  which  told  me  what  you  thought, 
which  showed  me  what  to  do  —  I  humbly  thank 
you." 

She  let  fall  her  hand  from  her  silken  lap,  and 
watched  with  unseeing  eyes  the  mimicry  of  life  upon 
the  stage  before  them,  where  Seliina  knelt  to  Tamer 
lane,  and  Moneses  mourned  for  Arpasia.  Presently 
she  said  again,  "  I  am  glad ;  "  and  then,  when  they 
had  kept  silence  for  a  while,  "  You  will  live  at  Fair 
View  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  he  replied.  "  I  will  make  it  well  for  her 
here  in  Virginia." 

"  You  must  let  me  help  you,"  she  said.  "  So  old  a 
friend  as  I  may  claim  that  as  a  right.  To-morrow  I 
may  visit  her,  may  I  not  ?  Now  we  must  look  at  the 


408  AUDREY 

players.  When  she  enters  there  is  no  need  to  cry  for 
silence.  It  comes  of  itself,  and  stays ;  we  watch  her 
with  straining  eyes.  Who  is  that  man  in  a  cloak, 
staring  at  us  from  the  pit  ?  See,  with  the  great  peruke 
and  the  scar  !  " 

Haward,  bending,  looked  over  the  rail,  then  drew 
back  with  a  smile.  "  A  half-breed  trader,"  he  said, 
"  by  name  Jean  Hugon.  Something  of  a  character." 

"  He  looked  strangely  at  us,"  said  Evelyn,  "  with 
how  haggard  a  face  !  My  scarf,  Mr.  Lee  ?  Thank 
you.  Madam,  have  you  the  right  of  the  matter  from 
Kitty  Page  ?  " 

The  conversation  became  general,  and  soon,  the  act 
approaching  its  end,  and  other  gentlemen  pressing 
into  the  box  which  held  so  beautiful  a  woman,  so 
great  a  catch,  and  so  assured  a  belle  as  Mistress 
Evelyn  Byrd,  Haward  arose  and  took  his  leave.  To 
others  of  the  brilliant  company  assembled  in  the  play 
house  he  paid  his  respects,  speaking  deferentially  to 
the  Governor,  gayly  to  his  fellow  Councilors  and 
planters,  and  bowing  low  to  many  ladies.  All  this 
was  in  the  interval  between  the  acts.  At  the  second 
parting  of  the  curtain  he  resumed  his  former  station 
in  the  pit.  With  intention  he  had  chosen  a  section  of 
it  where  were  few  of  his  own  class.  From  the  midst 
of  the  ruder  sort  he  could  watch  her  more  freely,  could 
exult  at  his  ease  in  her  beauty  both  of  face  and  mind. 

The  curtains  parted,  and  the  fiddlers  strove  for  war 
like  music.  Tamerlane,  surrounded  by  the  Tartar 
host,  received  his  prisoners,  and  the  defiant  rant  of 
Bajazet  shook  the  rafters.  All  the  sound  and  fury  of 
the  stage  could  not  drown  the  noise  of  the  audience. 
Idle  talk  and  laughter,  loud  comment  upon  the  players, 
went  on,  —  went  on  until  there  entered  Darden's 


THE  LAST  ACT  409 

Audrey,  dressed  in  red  silk,  with  a  jeweled  circlet  like 
a  line  of  flame  about  her  dark  flowing  hair.  The 
noise  sank,  voices  of  men  and  women  died  away ;  for 
a  moment  the  rustle  of  silk,  the  flutter  of  fans,  con 
tinued,  then  this  also  ceased. 

She  stood  before  the  Sultan,  wide-eyed,  with  a  smile 
of  scorn  upon  her  lips ;  then  spoke  in  a  voice,  low, 
grave,  monotonous,  charged  like  a  passing  bell  with 
warning  and  with  solemn  woe.  The  house  seemed  to 
grow  more  still ;  the  playgoers,  box  and  pit  and  gal 
lery,  leaned  slightly  forward ;  whether  she  spoke  or 
moved  or  stood  in  silence,  Darden's  Audrey,  that  had 
been  a  thing  of  naught,  now  held  every  eye,  was  reg 
nant  for  an  hour  in  this  epitome  of  the  world.  The 
scene  went  on,  and  now  it  was  to  Moneses  that  she 
spoke.  All  the  bliss  and  anguish  of  unhappy  love 
sounded  in  her  voice,  dwelt  in  her  eye  and  most  exqui 
site  smile,  hung  upon  her  every  gesture.  The  curtains 
closed ;  from  the  throng  that  had  watched  her  came 
a  sound  like  a  sigh,  after  which,  slowly,  tongues  were 
loosened.  An  interval  of  impatient  waiting,  then  the 
music  again  and  the  parting  curtains,  and  Darden's 
Audrey,  —  the  girl  who  could  so  paint  very  love,  very 
sorrow,  very  death ;  the  girl  who  had  come  strangely 
and  by  a  devious  path  from  the  height  and  loneliness 
of  the  mountains  to  the  level  of  this  stage  and  the 
watching  throng. 

At  the  close  of  the  fourth  act  of  the  play,  Haward 
left  his  station  in  the  pit,  and  quietly  made  his  way  to 
the  regions  behind  the  curtain,  where  in  the  very  cir 
cumscribed  space  that  served  as  greenroom  to  the 
Williamsburgh  theatre  he  found  Tamerlane,  Bajazet, 
and  their  satellites,  together  with  a  number  of  gentle 
men  invaders  from  the  front  of  the  house.  Mistress 


410  AUDREY 

Stagg  was  there,  and  Selima,  perched  upon  a  table, 
was  laughing  with  the  aforesaid  gentlemen,  but  no 
Arpasia.  Haward  drew  the  elder  woman  aside.  "  I 
wish  to  see  her,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  kindly  but 
imperious.  "  A  moment  only,  good  woman." 

With  her  finger  at  her  lips  Mistress  Stagg  glanced 
about  her.  "  She  hides  from  them  always,  she  's  that 
strange  a  child ;  though  indeed,  sir,  as  sweet  a  young 
lady  as  a  prince  might  wed !  This  way,  sir,  —  it 's 
dark ;  make  no  noise." 

She  led  him  through  a  dim  passageway,  and  softly 
opened  a  door.  "  There,  sir,  for  just  five  minutes ! 
I  '11  call  her  in  time." 

The  door  gave  upon  the  garden,  and  Audrey  sat 
upon  the  step  in  the  moonshine  and  the  stillness.  Her 
hand  propped  her  chin,  and  her  eyes  were  raised  to 
the  few  silver  stars.  That  mock  crown  which  she  wore 
sparkled  palely,  and  the  light  lay  in  the  folds  of  her 
silken  dress.  At  the  opening  of  the  door  she  did  not 
turn,  thinking  that  Mistress  Stagg  stood  behind  her. 
"  How  bright  the  moon  shines !  "  she  said.  "  A  mock 
ingbird  should  be  singing,  singing!  Is  it  time  for 
Arpasia  ?  " 

As  she  rose  from  the  step  Haward  caught  her  in  his 
arms.  "  It  is  I,  my  love !  Ah,  heart's  desire !  I  wor 
ship  you  who  gleam  in  the  moonlight,  with  your  crown 
like  an  aureole  "  — 

Audrey  rested  against  him,  clasping  her  hands  upon 
his  shoulder.  "  There  were  nights  like  this,"  she  said 
dreamily.  "  If  I  were  a  little  child  again,  you  could 
lift  me  in  your  arms  and  carry  me  home.  I  am  tired. 
...  I  would  that  I  needed  not  to  go  back  to  the  glare 
and  noise.  The  moon  shines  so  bright !  I  have  been 
thinking  "  — 


THE  LAST  ACT  411 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  twice.  "Poor 
Arpasia !  Poor  tired  child !  Soon  we  shall  go  home, 
Audrey,  —  we  two,  my  love,  we  two  !  " 

"I  have  been  thinking,  sitting  here  in  the  moon 
light,"  she  went  on,  her  hands  clasped  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  her  cheek  resting  on  them.  "  I  was  so 
ignorant.  I  never  dreamed  that  I  could  wrong  her 
.  .  .  and  when  I  awoke  it  was  too  late.  And  now  I 
love  you,  —  not  the  dream,  but  you.  I  know  not  what 
is  right  or  wrong ;  I  know  only  that  I  love.  I  think 
she  understands  —  forgives.  I  love  you  so !  "  Her 
hands  parted,  and  she  stood  from  him  with  her  face 
raised  to  the  balm  of  the  night.  "  I  love  you  so,"  she 
repeated,  and  the  low  cadence  of  her  laugh  broke  the 
silver  stillness  of  the  garden.  "  The  moon  up  there, 
she  knows  it.  And  the  stars,  —  not  one  has  fallen  to 
night!  Smell  the  flowers.  Wait,  I  will  pluck  you 
hyacinths." 

They  grew  by  the  doorstep,  and  she  broke  the  slen 
der  stalks  and  gave  them  into  his  hand.  But  when  he 
had  kissed  them  he  would  give  them  back,  would  fasten 
them  himself  in  the  folds  of  silk,  that  rose  and  fell 
with  her  quickened  breathing.  He  fastened  them  with 
a  brooch  which  he  took  from  the  Mechlin  at  his  throat. 
It  was  the  golden  horseshoe,  the  token  that  he  had 
journeyed  to  the  Endless  Mountains. 

"  Now  I  must  go,"  said  Audrey.  "  They  are  calling 
for  Arpasia.  Follow  me  not  at  once.  Good-night, 
good-night !  Ah,  I  love  you  so !  Remember  always 
that  I  love  you  so !  " 

She  was  gone.  In  a  few  minutes  he  also  reentered 
the  playhouse,  and  went  to  his  former  place  where, 
with  none  of  his  kind  about  him,  he  might  watch  her 
undisturbed.  As  he  made  his  way  with  some  diffi- 


412  AUDREY 

culty  through  the  throng,  he  was  aware  that  he  brushed 
against  a  man  in  a  great  peruke,  who,  despite  the  heat 
of  the  house,  was  wrapped  in  an  old  roquelaure  taw 
drily  laced  ;  also  that  the  man  was  keeping  stealthy 
pace  with  him,  and  that  when  he  at  last  reached  his 
station  the  cloaked  figure  fell  into  place  immediately 
behind  him. 

Haward  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  would  not  turn 
his  head,  and  thereby  grant  recognition  to  Jean  Hu- 
gon,  the  trader.  Did  he  so,  the  half-breed  might  break 
into  speech,  provoke  a  quarrel,  make  God  knew  what 
assertion,  what  disturbance.  To-morrow  steps  should 
be  taken  —  Ah,  the  curtain  ! 

The  silence  deepened,  and  men  and  women  leaned 
forward  holding  their  breath.  Darden's  Audrey, 
robed  and  crowned  as  Arpasia,  sat  alone  in  the  Sul 
tan's  tent,  staring  before  her  with  wide  dark  eyes, 
then  slowly  rising  began  to  speak.  A  sound,  a  sigh  as 
of  wonder,  ran  from  the  one  to  the  other  of  the  throng 
that  watched  her.  Why  did  she  look  thus,  with  con 
tracted  brows,  toward  one  quarter  of  the  house  ?  What 
inarticulate  words  was  she  uttering?  What  gesture, 
quickly  controlled,  did  she  make  of  ghastly  fear  and 
warning  ?  And  now  the  familiar  words  came  halting 
from  her  lips  :  — 

"  '.Sure  't  is  a  horror,  more  than  darkness  brings, 
That  sits  upon  the  night ! '  " 

With  the  closing  words  of  her  speech  the  audience 
burst  into  a  great  storm  of  applause.  'Gad !  how  she 
acts !  But  what  now  ?  Why,  what  is  this  ? 

It  was  quite  in  nature  and  the  mode  for  an  actress 
to  pause  in  the  middle  of  a  scene  to  curtsy  thanks  for 
generous  applause,  to  smile  and  throw  a  mocking  kiss 
to  pit  and  boxes,  but  Darden's  Audrey  had  hitherto 


THE  LAST  ACT  413 

not  followed  the  fashion.  Also  it  was  not  uncustom 
ary  for  some  spoiled  favorite  of  a  player  to  trip  down, 
between  her  scenes,  the  step  or  two  from  the  stage  to 
the  pit,  and  mingle  with  the  gallants  there,  laugh,  jest, 
accept  languishing  glances,  audacious  comparisons,  and 
such  weighty  trifles  as  gilt  snuffboxes  and  rings  of 
price.  But  this  player  had  not  heretofore  honored 
the  custom ;  moreover,  at  present  she  was  needed  upon 
the  stage.  Bajazet  must  thunder  and  she  defy ;  with 
out  her  the  play  could  not  move,  and  indeed  the  actors 
were  now  staring  with  the  audience.  What  was  it  ? 
Why  had  she  crossed  the  stage,  and,  slowly,  smilingly, 
beautiful  and  stately  in  her  gleaming  robes,  descended 
those  few  steps  which  led  to  the  pit  ?  What  had  she 
to  do  there,  throwing  smiling  glances  to  right  "and  left, 
lightly  waving  the  folk,  gentle  and  simple,  from  her 
path,  pressing  steadily  onward  to  some  unguessed-at 
goal.  As  though  held  by  a  spell  they  watched  her, 
one  and  all,  —  Haward,  Evelyn,  the  Governor,  the 
man  in  the  cloak,  every  soul  in  that  motley  assemblage. 
The  wonder  had  not  time  to  dull,  for  the  moments 
were  few  between  her  final  leave-taking  of  those 
boards  which  she  had  trodden  supreme  and  the  crash 
ing  and  terrible  chord  which  was  to  close  the  enter 
tainment  of  this  night. 

Her  face  was  raised  to  the  boxes,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  her  dark  eyes  sought  one  there.  Then,  sud 
denly,  she  swerved.  There  were  men  between  her 
and  Haward.  She  raised  her  hand,  and  they  fell 
back,  making  for  her  a  path.  Haward,  bewildered, 
Started  forward,  but  her  cry  was  not  to  him.  It  was 
to  the  figure  just  behind  him,  —  the  cloaked  figure 
whose  hand  grasped  the  hunting-knife  which  from 
the  stage,  as  she  had  looked  to  where  stood  her  lover, 


414  AUDREY 

she  had  seen  or  divined.  "  Jean  !  Jean  Hugon  ! " 
she  cried. 

Involuntarily  the  trader  pushed  toward  her,  past 
the  man  whom  he  meant  to  stab  to  the  heart.  The 
action,  dragging  his  cloak  aside,  showed  the  half-raised 
arm  and  the  gleaming  steel.  For  many  minutes  the 
knife  had  been  ready.  The  play  was  nearly  over,  and 
she  must  see  this  man  who  had  stolen  her  heart,  this 
Haward  of  Fair  View,  die.  Else  Jean  Hugon's  ven 
geance  were  not  complete.  For  his  own  safety  the 
maddened  half-breed  had  ceased  to  care.  No  warning 
cried  from  the  stage  could  have  done  aught  but  pre 
cipitate  the  deed,  but  now  for  the  moment,  amazed 
and  doubtful,  he  turned  his  back  upon  his  prey. 

In  that  moment  the  Audrey  of  the  woods,  a  crea 
ture  lithe  and  agile  and  strong  of  wrist  as  of  will,  had 
thrown  herself  upon  him,  clutching  the  hand  that  held 
the  knife.  He  strove  to  dash  her  from  him,  but  in 
vain ;  the  house  was  in  an  uproar ;  and  now  Haward's 
hands  were  at  his  throat,  Haward's  voice  was  crying 
to  that  fair  devil,  that  Audrey  for  whom  he  had  built 
his  house,  who  was  balking  him  of  revenge,  whose 
body  was  between  him  and  his  enemy  !  Suddenly  he 
was  all  savage ;  as  upon  a  night  in  Fair  View  house 
he  had  cast  off  the  trammels  of  his  white  blood,  so 
now.  An  access  of  furious  strength  came  to  him  ;  he 
shook  himself  free  ;  the  knife  gleamed  in  the  air,  de 
scended,  .  .  .  He  drew  it  from  the  bosom  into  which 
he  had  plunged  it,  and  as  Haward  caught  her  in  his 
arms,  who  would  else  have  sunk  to  the  floor,  the  half- 
breed  burst  through  the  horror-stricken  throng,  bran 
dishing  the  red  blade  and  loudly  speaking  in  the 
tongue  of  the  Monacans.  Like  a  whirlwind  he  was 
gone  from  the  house,  and  for  a  time  none  thought  to 
follow  him. 


"JEAN! JEAN  HUGON!" 


THE  LAST  ACT  415 

They  bore  her  into  the  small  white  house,  and  up 
the  stair  to  her  own  room,  and  laid  her  upon  the  bed. 
Dr.  Contesse  came  and  went  away,  and  came  again. 
There  was  a  crowd  in  Palace  Street  before  the  theatre. 
A  man  mounting  the  doorstep  so  that  he  might  be 
heard  of  all,  said  clearly,  "  She  may  live  until  dawn, 
—  no  longer."  Later,  one  came  out  of  the  house  and 
asked  that  there  might  be  quiet.  The  crowd  melted 
away,  but  throughout  the  mild  night,  filled  with  the 
soft  airs  and  thousand  odors  of  the  spring,  people 
stayed  about  the  place,  standing  silent  in  the  street 
or  sitting  on  the  garden  benches. 

In  the  room  upstairs  lay  Darden's  Audrey,  with 
crossed  hands  and  head  put  slightly  back.  She  lay 
still,  upon  the  edge  of  death,  nor  seemed  to  care  that 
it  was  so.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  at  intervals  one 
sitting  at  the  bed  head  laid  touch  upon  her  pulse,  or 
held  before  her  lips  a  slight  ringlet  of  her  hair.  Mary 
Stagg  sat  by  the  window  and  wept,  but  Haward,  kneel 
ing,  hid  his  face  in  the  covering  of  the  bed.  The  form 
upon  it  was  not  more  still  than  he ;  Mistress  Stagg, 
also,  stifled  her  sobs,  for  it  seemed  not  a  place  for  loud 
grief. 

In  the  room  below,  amidst  the  tinsel  frippery  of 
small  wares,  waited  others  whose  lives  had  touched 
the  life  that  was  ebbing  away.  Now  and  then  one 
spoke  in  a  hushed  voice,  a  window  was  raised,  a  ser 
vant  bringing  in  fresh  candles  trod  too  heavily  ;  then 
the  quiet  closed  in  again.  Late  in  the  night  came 
through  the  open  windows  a  distant  clamor,  and  pre 
sently  a  man  ran  down  Palace  Street,  and  as  he  ran 
called  aloud  some  tidings.  MacLean,  standing  near 
the  door,  went  softly  out.  When  he  returned,  Colonel 
Byrd,  sitting  at  the  table,  lifted  inquiring  brows. 


416  AUDREY 

"  They  took  him  in  the  reeds  near  the  Capitol  land 
ing,"  said  the  Highlander  grimly.  "  He  's  in  the 
gaol  now,  but  whether  the  people  will  leave  him 
there"  — 

The  night  wore  on,  grew  old,  passed  into  the  cold 
melancholy  of  its  latest  hour.  Darden's  Audrey 
sighed  and  stirred,  and  a  little  strength  coming  to 
her  parting  spirit,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  loosed  her 
hands.  The  physician  held  to  her  lips  the  cordial, 
and  she  drank  a  very  little.  Haward  lifted  his  head, 
and  as  Contesse  passed  him  to  set  down  the  cup, 
caught  him  by  the  sleeve.  The  other  looked  pityingly 
at  the  man  into  whose  face  had  come  a  flush  of  hope. 
"  'T  is  but  the  last  flickering  of  the  flame,"  he  said. 
"  Soon  even  the  spark  will  vanish." 

Audrey  began  to  speak.  At  first  her  words  were 
wild  and  wandering,  but,  the  mist  lifting  somewhat, 
she  presently  knew  Mistress  Stagg,  and  liked  to  have 
her  take  the  doctor's  place  beside  her.  At  Haward 
she  looked  doubtfully,  with  wide  eyes,  as  scarce  under 
standing.  When  he  called  her  name  she  faintly  shook 
her  head,  then  turned  it  slightly  from  him  and  veiled 
her  eyes.  It  came  to  him  with  a  terrible  pang  that 
the  memory  of  their  latest  meetings  was  wiped  from 
her  brain,  and  that  she  was  afraid  of  his  broken  words 
and  the  tears  upon  her  hand. 

When  she  spoke  again  it  was  to  ask  for  the  minister. 
He  was  below,  and  Mistress  Stagg  went  weeping  down 
the  stairs  to  summon  him.  He  came,  but  would  not 
touch  the  girl ;  only  stood,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  looked  down  upon  her  with  bleared  eyes  and  a 
heavy  countenance. 

"  I  am  to  die,  am  I  not  ?  "  she  asked,  with  her  gaze 
upon  him. 


THE  LAST  ACT  417 

*'  That  is  as  God  wills,  Audrey,"  he  answered. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  die." 

"  You  have  no  need,"  he  said,  and  going  out  of  the 
room  and  down  the  stairs,  made  Stagg  pour  for  him  a 
glass  of  aqua  vitse. 

Audrey  closed  her  eyes,  and  when  she  opened  them 
again  there  seemed  to  be  many  persons  in  the  room. 
One  was  bending  over  her  whom  at  first  she  thought 
was  Molly,  but  soon  she  saw  more  clearly,  and  smiled 
at  the  pale  and  sorrowful  face.  The  lady  bent  lower 
yet,  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  "  Audrey,"  she 
said,  and  Audrey  looking  up  at  her  answered,  "  Eve 
lyn." 

When  the  dawn  came  glimmering  in  the  windows, 
when  the  mist  was  cold  and  the  birds  were  faintly 
heard,  they  raised  her  upon  her  pillows,  and  wiped  the 
death  dew  from  her  forehead.  "  Audrey,  Audrey, 
Audrey !  "  cried  Haward,  and  caught  at  her  hands. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  faint  and  doubtful  smile, 
remembering  nothing  of  that  hour  in  the  room  below, 
of  those  minutes  in  the  moonlit  garden.  "  Gather  the 
rosebuds  while  ye  may,"  she  said  ;  and  then,  "  The 
house  is  large.  Good  giant,  eat  me  not !  " 

The  man  upon  his  knees  beside  her  uttered  a  cry, 
•ind  began  to  speak  to  her,  thickly,  rapidly,  words  of 
agony,  entreaty,  and  love.  To-morrow  and  for  all  life 
habit  would  resume  its  sway,  and  lost  love,  remorse, 
and  vain  regrets  put  on  a  mask  that  was  cold  and 
fine  and  able  to  deceive.  To-night  there  spoke  the 
awakened  heart.  With  her  hands  cold  in  his,  with 
his  agonized  gaze  upon  the  face  from  which  the  light 
was  slowly  passing,  he  poured  forth  his  passion  and  his 
anguish,  and  she  listened  not.  They  moistened  her 
lips,  and  one  opened  wide  the  window  that  gave  upon 


418  AUDREY 

the  east.  "  It  was  all  a  dream,"  she  said  ;  and  again, 
"  All  a  dream."  A  little  later,  while  the  sky  flushed 
slowly  and  the  light  of  the  candles  grew  pale,  she 
began  suddenly,  and  in  a  stronger  voice,  to  speak  as 
Arpasia :  — 

"  '  If  it  be  happiness,  alas  !  to  die, 

To  lie  forgotten  in  the  silent  grave  '  "  — 

"Forgotten!"  cried  Ha  ward.  "  Audrey,  Audrey, 
Audrey!  Go  not  from  me!  Oh,  love,  love,  stay 
awhile !  " 

"  The  mountains,"  said  Audrey  clearly.  "  The  sun 
upon  them  and  the  lifting  mist." 

"  The  mountains  !  "  he  cried.  "  Ay,  we  will  go  to 
them,  Audrey,  we  will  go  together !  Why,  you  are 
stronger,  sweetheart !  There  is  strength  in  your  voice 
and  your  hands,  and  a  light  in  your  eyes.  Oh,  if  you 
will  live,  Audrey,  I  will  make  you  happy  !  You  shall 
take  me  to  the  mountains  —  we  will  go  together,  you 
and  I !  Audrey,  Audrey  "  — 

But  Audrey  was  gone  already. 


(Stfce  fttoer^ 

Electrotyfied  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Hougkton  &  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.  A. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OP  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


18 1941V 


OCT    11    1944 


~ 


LD  21-100m-7,'40  (6936s) 


YB  67JV8 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


